Vendetta's Inferno
by Wandrin Dreamer
Summary: It's seven years since Voldemort's fall. But no one's foolish enough to think that the war is over. Dementors and Dark wizards have been unleashed. And someone with a personal vendetta is out to get Harry and make him suffer. Can the Auror stop him? HG
1. Chapter 1: The Second Body

_**Chapter 1: The second body**_

6 July 2005 

Dark clouds swirled in the sky and the fog from the Dementors was as thick as ever. The few beams of sunlight that could penetrate the gloom only managed to shed a fragment of light on the blackened, sparse trees and their reaching branches. They looked like petrified victims with outstretched arms and clawing fingers – their last battle for life lost. The stench from the rotting vegetation and flesh hung in the air like a thick poisonous cloud. Only the flies seemed to be thriving in the muddy barrenness.

Click, click, click - a camera was working furiously. But twenty-four year old Harry Potter didn't show any sign of noticing it. Even the annoying rhyme that had been placed on his desk a few days ago had been driven, at last, from his mind.

_Potter this one you won't win.  
__You cannot beat this Slytherin.  
__Another number has come in.  
__You will pay for killing Him!_

Harry stared at the corpse in front of him. He thought he had seen everything; that he would forever be desensitised to the horrors that the Dark Side were capable of; but this was by far the most repulsive thing he had ever laid eyes upon.

A slender, red-haired, young man, approximately in his early to mid twenties, was strung up like a Muggle scarecrow, wearing only a pair of briefs. The narrow cuts along the man's body, the source of all that brown,caked blood, showed that he had been tortured slowly. The twisted, knotted look of his muscles that were standing prominent all over his body, were testament to the fact that he had been under the Cruciatus curse for long periods too. Like the first victim, this one had been 'artistically' posed for maximum impact. His eyes were wide with terror and pain; his mouth twisted and strained, the corners threatening to tear; and his body was contorted into an unnatural position, the sinew straining, almost as if it wanted to break out from under the skin.

Harry raised his wand and released the body bind charm that was on the victim. The body slumped, as if relieved - finally satisfied to be dead.

"Do we know who he is?" Harry asked the Aurors behind him, without looking back.

"Ahh, yes... yes… he was, he was-," Harry could hear some parchment being shuffled, " he was William McMillan, a Muggle. He lived in-"

"Get him down from here," Harry interrupted, not wanting to know as it made the victim more human, his suffering more real. "He deserves more respect than this."

"Yes, Sir," the Auror said, leaping to attention.

Harry tore his eyes away from the body as he heard the slurping sounds of the two Aurors approaching. He turned and watched them battling through the knee-deep sludge they had been pushing through for the past four days. They had been hoping to find the victim before it was too late. A lot of help they were.

Harry scowled at the thirty-something year old Aurors he had been assigned. Graham Stuart and Ralph McGrath were slow and inexperienced, and they complained perpetually. Hermione had done a better job 'roughing it' when they were on the Horcrux hunt seven years ago. But the Ministry of Magic could not afford to be as picky as they once had been. They had lost too many Aurors in the war against Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Even though Harry had destroyed Voldemort on his own, in a battle of epic proportions; Death Eaters and Dementors were still causing destruction and havoc on the already weakened Wizarding World. Any illusions Harry had had that the fall of Lord Voldemort would bring about a quick end to the war were gone. Dementors came out nightly, sucking the little happiness that remained out of the emotionally exhausted nation. The Death Eaters were taking full advantage of the situation. Leaderless, they were working either in small groups or individually, making them unpredictable and uncontrollable. The Ministry'sleadership was failing in holding things together, and all its magical law enforcement divisions were not managing to keep up either. It wasn't even their fault for once. They were outnumbered and drained. New recruits were few and far between. Becoming an Auror or a member of the Magical Law Enforcement was almost suicidal these days; their numbers were diminishing as their death rate climbed almost daily. No one wanted the job. Which was why Harry was saddled with these two.

He watched impatiently as the two Aurors had a quick battle of pestle, parchment, severing charm to see who would get the unpleasant job of removing the body from its stake. Stuart lost. He stepped up to the deceased male with a revolted look on his face and clasped it underarm as McGrath readied his wand to utter the charm that would release the victim's arms.

Harry opened his mouth to remind them to perform some rudimentary safety checks, but he was too late.

The Aurors were in such an obvious hurry to be finished with the disgusting job at hand, they acted without thinking. As McGrath uttered the incantation and the body was released into Stuart's waiting grip, Harry felt a wall of magic surge through the air.

"MOVE!" he bellowed starting to sprint to the Auror's side, but Stuart was frozen to the spot, seemingly terrified.

Harry saw, as if in slow motion, something starting to move where the body had been only seconds ago. With lightning reflexes and speed, he dived into Stuart and shouldered him out the way. Before Harry's feet could even hit the ground, something crashed into his side and an intense pain swelled just above his left hipbone. The power behind the blow was so extreme it changed the direction he was flying through the air. Harry was shunted backwards with a force he would have thought only possible from the Hogwarts Express. He crashed back down into the sludge, flat on his back, metres away from where he had been. A wall of mud flew into the air and came crashing down around him like rancid, glutinous rain.

Harry gasped, automatically clutching at his side. He could feel warmth spreading down his leg and through his fingers. He was bleeding, and from what he could tell at that precise moment, he was bleeding badly.

Harry pushed himself up with one hand and spat a mud clot from his mouth. The putrid taste and smell of death lingered, and Harry restrained himself from retching.

"Are you all right, Potter, Sir?" McGrath yelled, racing up to Harry, holding out his hand to help Harry up.

"Check that thing for poisons – all poisons. NOW!" Harry ordered, ignoring McGrath's outstretched hand; knowing that every second counted if his worst suspicions were true.

"Yes Sir," McGrath turned and hurried over to the offending booby trap.

Harry slowly steeled himself and got to his feet. He was shaking all over and had broken out into a cold sweat. Still clutching his side, he stumbled over to where Stuart was lying on the ground.

"Are you all right?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even. He didn't trust himself to lean forward and check.

"Yes," spluttered Stuart. The Auror opened his eyes and let out a high-pitched squeal. He was lying prone on the decaying corpse. It was the fastest Harry had ever seen the man move.

"Check him for more traps, and if there are none, get him ready to transport," Harry ordered. He refused to show them sympathy. Being soft on them would only get them killed faster. He winced as he turned away from Stuart and his task.

"Anything?" he asked McGrath, who had his wand out and his potions kit open.

"No Sir. It looks like it is clean – well apart from all the blood, that is… Are you sure you are all right, Sir?"

Harry chose to ignore his question and twisted the offending object free from its hold with his free hand. It was shaped like a sword and made of a metal, but it was blunt. Obviously it was the force behind the weapon that was intended to kill, and not quite the weapon itself.

"Can we Apparate out of here now?" McGrath asked, indicating with a nod of his head that Stuart was finished.

"No," said Harry. "We will have to leave the way we came in."

"But –"

"The magic that was triggered when the body was moved was not just to send this thing," he lifted the sword-like object in his hand slightly, "into an Auror. It put up Anti-Apparition wards."

"But … but how do you know for sure?"

Harry glared at McGrath. "Because of the amount of magic that was given off, the fact that it spread far enough to create a shield, because I can still feel it in the air, and because this thing was more likely to seriously injure someone than kill them, and walking back is going to be a right pain. If you still don't believe me, you are more than welcome to test it. I'll warn you though, I am in no shape to get your splinched parts back to the Ministry."

McGrath was a tall man, but he seemed to shrink under Harry's gaze. He mumbled something, but didn't argue further.

Harry was pleased to note that at least the Auror didn't have the stupidity to mention making a Portkey. After the very public dressing-down Dawlish, the new head of the Auror Division, had given him, in which Harry's wand, career and neck were threatened, Harry just didn't dare. His reluctance wasn't out of concern for himself though, but for Kingsley Shacklebolt. The older Auror had stood by Harry and Harry didn't want to see Kingsley's abilities and judgement questioned again.

Harry forced those thoughts out his head. They had to get out of here, preferably before nightfall. He handed the sword-like object to McGrath. "You can store this with the rest of the evidence when we get back to head-quarters."

"You ready there?" Harry called to Stuart, noting that the Auror had had the sense to transfigure something into a sheet to cover the victim with. "Freezing charm on the body? Let's get out of here then."

Harry didn't wait for them to respond. He simply turned his back on them and began walking back the way they had come. The sooner they got beyond the wards, the sooner he could go home and hopefully get some overdue sleep. He repositioned his hand on his side. His fingers were starting to feel sticky. He could feel the warmth from his blood already soaking the leg of his trousers. Its heat was a noticeable contrast from the cold slime and mud he was covered with. At least the muck hid the fact that he was bleeding. He didn't want the other Aurors to know how seriously he had been hurt. The last thing he wanted was their concern, or worse, more stories about what the 'Famous Harry Potter' was willing to sacrifice to get a job done. Discreetly, Harry pulled out two vials from his belt. One was a blood-replenishing potion, the other a mild healing potion. With horror, he noticed that the vial with the blood-replenishing potion had cracked. Only a few drops remained. He swallowed the healing potion quickly, screwing up his face. He hated the taste of it. It reminded him of Dudley's dirty socks and Uncle Vernon's early-morning breath. Not a pleasant combination in the least. Looking ruefully at the few drops of the blood-replenishing potion, he swallowed that too. That potion tasted like what he could only imagine very old, overused Muggle coins could taste like – not that he had ever really had the opportunity to handle much Muggle money. He only hoped that the potions would help a bit. He knew they had a fair walk ahead of them, and he was already starting to feel light-headed from both blood loss and pain. Harry knew it would take a while for the potions to start to take effect, so he did what he had been doing far too often these days; he clenched his jaw and pretended that nothing was wrong.

* * *

As night began to fall, Harry became very concerned. The Anti-Apparition wards had spread much further than he thought they would. Not only that, but the storm that had been threatening all afternoon had finally struck. The icy rain was stinging his skin and the wind was chilling him to the bone. It was going to be another long, miserable night. Harry shivered involuntarily. He looked around, sensing that Dementors were nearby. Out of habit, he grasped the Ministry-Approved, Auror-Issue Anti-Dementor pendant that was around his neck, making sure it hadn't fallen off earlier in the day. Since the second war had begun, the horrific scenes he had witnessed made Dementors even more taxing on him than in his youth. At least the pendant stopped him from reliving his worst experiences, even if they didn't stop the chill or make the Dementors less dangerous. Harry cast a nervous glance over his shoulder. He couldn't see anything. He decided it was possibly the chill from the miserable evening. He dropped his head and watched his legs drag though the mud. No amount of magic could warm the cold, wet sludge they were walking through. Sleep would be, yet again, impossible. 

Harry stumbled and fell, as his legs seemed to give out temporarily under his diminished weight. It was the fourth time this had happened on their return journey. At least the other Aurors hadn't witnessed any of this. For the first time since they had set out on this hideous task, they were walking ahead of him.

Harry picked himself up, wincing as more waves of pain shot through his already aching body, and forced himself to carry on walking.

The healing potion had helped a bit, but the size of his injury was a bit out of its league. He also knew that he was wearing whatever good the few drops of the replenishing potion had done. His hand clutching at his side had remained wet with blood for the past few hours.

He looked at the Aurors ahead. They had stopped walking and had turned to wait for him. Harry forced himself to walk faster.

"Are you all right, Sir? You are looking very pale." McGrath questioned.

"I'm fine," Harry lied.

McGrath nodded, although he didn't look convinced. "Do you think we should set up camp here, and call it a night?"

Harry paused before answering. He really wanted to sleep, but the Anti-Apparition shields should not extend much further – surely? "Let's go for another hour," he said, wiping muck off his watch and checking the time. "If we haven't past the shields by then, we'll call it a night."

The other Aurors nodded, and they continued walking, Harry falling behind again.

Forty-three minutes later, Harry was glad he had decided to go for another hour. He felt the magic in the air disappear as he walked through the Anti-Apparition barrier.

"OK, we have passed the shields. We can Apparate now." Harry called ahead to Stuart and McGrath.

The two Aurors turned to look at him, and visibly sighed with relief.

"That's the best news I've heard all day," Stuart stated, rubbing his arms briskly. "No, make that all week."

Harry nodded. "See you at headquarters," He watched as the Aurors Disapparated before disappearing with a crack himself.

* * *

"Good Lord, Potter!" Kingsley Shacklebolt exclaimed, looking up from the parchment he was writing on, as Harry Apparated into Auror headquarters. "You look dreadful! Where have you been?" 

"Looking for the latest victim." Harry responded, without any emotion.

"Did you find him? Did you get to him in time?" Kingsley asked urgently, a flicker of hope shining in his eyes.

Harry shook his head and Kingsley's face fell. "We found him, but by the looks of it, I think he had been dead for at least three days before we got there. That bog was terrible to hunt through. It slowed us down too much."

Shacklebolt hissed in frustration and shook his head. "I wish we knew who was behind this."

Harry frowned, opened his mouth and then closed it quickly.

"You know who it is?" Kingsley asked, not missing Harry's reaction.

"No," said Harry, wiping all expressions from his face. He was sure he knew who it was, but a corny limerick from his Hogwarts days was not considered damning evidence in any world. But Harry was certain; Draco Malfoy was definitely involved.

Kingsley still looked suspicious, but didn't push the matter further. "Well, whoever he is, he is one twisted … individual."

"I know," Harry replied. "You should have seen what he did to this one."

Kingsley just shook his head. "I will be doing that as soon as the rest of your team arrive back here. Where are they?"

"Dropping the body off. They are terrified of it."

Kingsley grunted and stood up. "I wish I could give you a better squad to work with…"

"I know," Harry replied. He watched as Kingsley limped closer to him.

A desk job wasn't doing Kingsley much good. He was starting to fill out in a rather unflattering way. But Kingsley, like so many of the Aurors, had been injured in the battle against Voldemort and the Death Eaters. At least he was still able to work in the department, even though it was more on an administrative level. His knowledge was irreplaceable.

Kingsley put a protective hand on Harry's shoulder. "Are you sure you are all right, Harry? You look dreadful." The concern was obvious in Kingsley's voice.

"Thanks Kingsley," Harry replied, forcing a smile. "I'll be fine. All I want to do is have a long bath and sleep."

"I understand," Kingsley replied, removing his hand. He paused before continuing. "Wish I was out there with you. I really miss it."

"I don't think you would be saying that if you had spent the last few days with us," Harry answered. "Wading through foul-smelling sludge, not sleeping… it wasn't much fun."

"Yeah, but at least I would be doing something useful. Better than sitting at this bloody desk every god-damned day."

Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing.

He and Kingsley had come to know each other really well. Their friendship had begun on a basis of mutual respect for one another, and over time, had developed. Kingsley was one of the few people who really knew what had happened during the last days of the war against Voldemort, and even if Kingsley didn't know it, it was his advice that had helped Harry gather the pieces of his life back together. Kingsley knew what war was about; he understood loss – loss of friends and loss of innocence.

"Look, Harry, if I can find another experienced Auror to work with you, I will. I think your chances of finding this bastard will be better that way."

"Thanks Kingsley."

Their conversation was interrupted with the arrival of Stuart and McGrath. Kingsley moved away from Harry and limped back to his desk.

Harry turned to face his two charges. He watched as Stuart was subconsciously wiping his hands on his clothes, as if trying to get rid of death. Harry found the action rather annoying.

"Have you dropped the victim off?" he asked, knowing the answer already.

"Yes," Stuart answered. "The Medi-Auror said he would only be able to look at it tomorrow. Apparently there is a lot of work for him at the moment."

"Same at the AI. Conleth says he is overloaded," McGrath put in. "Maybe tomorrow morning, but most likely the afternoon."

"Well then," Harry said turning to Kingsley, "if it is all right with you, Sir, we will continue with this tomorrow then. There is nothing else we can do at the moment, and I think we all could do with the sleep."

Kingsley nodded. "You are right, Potter." He looked at the two Aurors. "Make it a late morning. You guys look like you could do with the rest. You're dismissed until then."

Stuart and McGrath nodded their thanks and Disapparated away.

"Wish they would move that fast on assignment," Harry muttered.

Kingsley chuckled softly. "Nothing like motivation to get one moving." More seriously, he added. "Harry, you are starting to resemble an Inferius. Go home and sleep. As you said, there is nothing you can do now."

Harry nodded. "Thanks Kingsley. I'll see you tomorrow then."

Kingsley nodded, and with a pop, Harry was gone.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to my brilliant betas, Browneydweasley and Ladytonks. They are helpful, motivating and keep me (and my writing) in line. 


	2. Chapter 2: Hermione's Call

_**Chapter 2 – Hermione's Call**_

_Evening 6th July 2005_

Harry dragged himself through his front door, pushed it shut behind himself with his foot and closed his eyes temporarily as relief washed over him. He was home - he was finally home. He eyed the downstairs bathroom. Harry knew he should… but he just didn't have the energy. He pulled at his filthy t-shirt that was sticking to his body. It smelled worse than rotting fish.

Being careful not to open the wound at his side anymore than could be helped, he carefully tugged the offending piece of clothing off over his head and tossed it carelessly through the bathroom door, not caring where it landed.

Harry's body was the best indicator of the life he led. He was incredibly thin, thinner than he had been even at school. His hipbones jutted out above his trousers and his collarbones stood raised, forming empty wells between them and his shoulders. But he was strong. Prominent, almost sinewy muscles twisted and twined their way down his arms, back and stomach, forming well-defined channels. He looked athletic and wiry. The many scars that marked his flesh told the stories of the numerous battles he had survived.

Harry squinted down at the deep gash just above his hip and brought his muddied and bloodstained hand to his side. It still stung like a Horntail. He would have to do something about it – sometime soon… At least it wasn't bleeding badly anymore.

Summoning the last of his energy, he moved to the couch, stopping only to grab the bottle of Ogden's Firewhisky. He unscrewed the lid awkwardly with his free hand and brought the bottle to his lips. "God!" he grimaced as the fiery liquid travelled down his throat. Harry sat down shakily before taking another swig. He hated the stuff, but he had to admit that it was a potent painkiller.

Harry kicked his shoes off without even bothering about the laces and slumped over onto his side, bringing his legs up onto the couch. As a last thought, he pulled his glasses off his face and tugged his wand out from his back pocket, and dropped them onto the carpeted floor. He was asleep before the second hand on his clock finished another rotation.

Harry dreamt of more pleasant times. He thought it rather ironic that dreams about some of the most terrifying moments in his life, when he, Ron and Hermione were together doing things like hunting Horcruxes, were now what he considered pleasant. The truth, which he hated admitting, was that things had changed between them since those days. They were still close, that would never change; but responsibilities, expectations and 'real life' _had_ changed things. No longer were they working as a team. They had each branched out into their own personal fields. Hermione was working in the Department of Mysteries, studying who knows what as an Unspeakable; Ron was working in the Department of Magical Transportation, in the Broom Regulatory Control Division. Ron, like Harry, had been offered a career as an Auror, but he had turned it down. Ron had had a tough war. Harry didn't blame him for backing out – in fact he sometimes wondered why he hadn't either. A nice quiet job in a place like the Muggle Liaison Department sounded very tempting at times.

In the beginning, they used to meet up regularly in the foyer in the Ministry to have lunch together, but as time had passed, and their schedules were filled, their meetings were hardly ever possible. Then, as Harry's Auror duties required him to go away regularly, their weekend time together was cut too. It didn't help either, that when Harry was available, he was usually exhausted.

0o0

_Morning 7 July 2005_

BANG! BANG! BANG! "Harry, open the door!"

Harry opened an eye groggily and groaned. "Go away!" he slurred sleepily into the scatter cushion he had managed to work under his head during the night.

"Harry! It's Hermione! Open – " her words were cut short as she tried the door handle. "I can't believe it! You didn't even lock the door!"

Harry pulled the scatter cushion out from under his head and squashed it over his head instead. He sensed more than heard her enter his house, but he did hear her close the door and lock it behind herself.

"You of all people know how dangerous it is… There are Death Eaters out there-" there was a brief pause. "What is that awful smell? And what on earth did you do to yourself?"

"Me, and nothing much." Harry mumbled from under the pillow.

He heard a gentle clanking as Hermione put her book bag down on his coffee table, and then felt the couch sink as she perched on the edge next to him. She put her hand near the gash above his hip and Harry stiffened instantly.

"Don't tell me nothing much, Harry. That looks serious. You should have had it seen to."

Harry clamped his arm over the top of the pillow to muffle out her words. He felt a gentle tingling where the gash was, and knew that Hermione was healing it for him. She had become quite good at Magical First Aid during their quest for the Horcruxes. In fact, Harry was quite convinced that if their hunt had gone on just a few months longer, she would have been able to give Madam Pomfrey a run for her Galleons. Harry then felt her hand on his shoulder as she roughly pulled him onto his stomach. More tingling sensations told him that whatever other injuries he wasn't aware of were being healed too. The next thing he knew, the cushion was being ripped away from over his head. He groaned loudly and tried to cover his head with his arm instead. But Hermione was adamant that she was going to be heard. She grabbed his arm and pulled it away.

"Harry. What are you doing to yourself? You look awful; you've lost so much weight –"

"Thanks Hermione. You look wonderful yourself." Harry muttered, still refusing to open his eyes.

"Come on, Harry. We are all worried about you."

"Well, you don't have to be. I'm fine." Harry didn't have to look at Hermione to know that she was rolling her eyes at that comment.

"YesHarry. You are so fine, you can barely get home without falling over from exhaustion, you forget to lock the door – that's basic security, and you are drinking Firewhisky instead of anaesthetic potions to numb your pain. You sound like a perfect example of a 'fine' human being."

"I would have heard if anyone came to the door." Harry mumbled, barely audibly, still determined that he was going to get more sleep.

"Yes. That is why I was knocking for nearly 15 minutes."

"You were?" Harry opened an eye and looked at the blurry shape that was Hermione.

"Yes, I was." she sighed in return. "If Ginny hadn't told me-" Harry tried to pull his arm out of Hermione's grip to cover his head again.

There was a long silence before Hermione spoke again. "Are you happy, Harry?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders and felt how stiff they were. To be honest, he had never really given his happiness much thought in a long time. He had basically accepted that happiness was something that happened to other people.

Harry sighed and gave up trying to sleep. He tugged his arm out of Hermione's clasp and fished around on the floor for his glasses. Finding them, he rolled over onto his back and slid them on his nose.

"OK, Hermione. I am awake. What's this about?" he asked, still sounding tired, but resigned.

"It's about you, Harry." Hermione replied gently. "We are worried about you. Look at yourself. I can count your ribs! You have dark rings under your eyes! Is what you are doing worth it?"

"Of course it's worth it!" Harry spat, defiantly. "You know what's happening out there!" He closed his eyes briefly before continuing, more calmly this time. "I have to stop them Hermione. When I've done that – I'll – I'll…"

"Find someone else to chase," she finished for him. "Harry, you have done more than anyone could ask from you already. If you wanted to leave, no one would blame you…"

"I can't do that, Hermione," Harry said. "The Aurors are fighting a losing battle as it is. They need as much help as they can get."

"So you are putting saving the wizarding world before yourself again. You can't save everyone, Harry. You have learnt that already." Hermione was talking calmly, but the look on her face betrayed her true emotions. She was very concerned.

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but he couldn't think of anything to say. Eventually he muttered, "There is nothing wrong with what I am doing, Hermione."

"No, there isn't, Harry. But the other Aurors aren't coming home looking like Inferi."

Harry groaned. It was the second time in less than 24 hours that he had been compared to the walking dead. He supposed he really did look bad. "Come on, Hermione. Everyone is overworked and exhausted."

"Yes Harry, but none of the others have lost a small person in body weight. None of the others don't come home for weeks on end. Ginny doesn't –"

Harry glared at Hermione, who instantly looked like she regretted opening her mouth. Ever since Hermione and Ginny had decided to share a house together (for reasons of security and convenience), these annoying slips had become more and more regular. A contemplative look crossed her face, as if she was debating whether to say what she was going to say next. Obviously she decided she would say it; she took a hesitant breath and opened her mouth.

"She got Bellatrix last night… She brought her in on her own. Almost her entire squad was killed, but she did it." Hermione almost whispered the last words.

"What happened?" Harry asked, immediately feeling guilty for having gone home early and not being there to try and help the other Aurors.

Hermione visibly relaxed. "I don't know all the details, I mean, obviously, she can't tell me everything, but from what I do know, they had been tracking Bellatrix for a few months. Yesterday morning, Ginny managed to track down one of Bellatrix's known followers. She used some Veritaserum and found out where Bellatrix was going to be. They set up an ambush, but they were outnumbered. I know that some of the Death Eaters were killed in the battle and … and … the Aurors. Ginny brought Bellatrix in, even though she was hurt…"

"Is she ok?" Harry asked immediately, forgetting that he was supposed to sound anything but enthusiastic and unconcerned about the youngest Weasley. He tried to sit up. His muscles cramped, and he forced himself to lie back down again, wincing from the effort.

"She's in St Mungo's, but they don't think it is too serious. She won't be able to work for a week… You should go and see her, Harry."

Harry shot Hermione a very dark look. "You know I would be the last person she would want to see, Hermione."

Hermione just glared at him in a patronising sort of way.

"Ok, just tell her I hope she gets better soon, or something."

Hermione shook her head and rolled her eyes. "I can't believe you two are going to throw away whatever you could have had…"

"We never had anything, Hermione. That was seven years ago. Things change."

"Fine, Harry. I give up. If you two want to be so … so stubborn-"

"I could say the same thing about you and Ron," Harry shot back, cutting her off. A quick surge of annoyance ran through him as her eyes widened in shock. Hermione, for all her cleverness, never seemed to understand where she was not welcome.

"That's… that's different," she stammered.

"How so, Hermione? You love him; he loves you. So what the hell is keeping you two apart? Stubborn pride for Ron, but what's your excuse?"

Hermione looked stunned. After a short, but uncomfortable silence, she replied timidly, "It's… it's just different, Harry. It is not for me to do anything about it. It is up to Ron to do something."

Harry snorted and looked away from her.

"Look, Harry. Ron must… he must overcome his own insecurities. To me, it doesn't matter that I earn more than him; it doesn't matter that I know more about … well … everything but Quidditch, it doesn't matter that he has stopped fighting in the war – in fact, I am really happy he has. It just doesn't matter to me. Now, he must … he has to decide what matters for himself." Hermione took a deep breath before continuing. "I love him, just as he is, and I wouldn't change anything about him for all the Galleons on the planet. "

"Have you told him this?" Harry asked, softening the edge off his voice.

"I can't," Hermione said, just above a whisper. "It would be admitting that I have seen what he thinks his faults are."

Harry raised his hand and awkwardly tried to pat her on the arm to comfort her, but Hermione brushed his hand way and straightened her back, plastering a fake smile on her face. "I'm all right Harry, really."

Harry groaned just audibly as he let his arm drop to his side.

A calculating look crossed Hermione's face as she watched Harry.

"Have you been using the potions the Auror Department give out?" The look on her face was reminiscent of their Hogwarts days.

"Err... yes. Why?" Harry had learnt many years ago that the look in Hermione's eye usually was a good thing

"I really shouldn't do this – you know, it hasn't been tested yet by the Experimental Potions Division – but I know it works. And it is far better than the present potions available –" Hermione's face was screwed up in concentration as she stared at the wall, deep in thought. After a few seconds, she got excitedly to her feet, grabbed her book bag that Harry guessed also doubled as her handbag, and headed for Harry's kitchen, her mind obviously decided. "Oh," she said, turning to face him, "you don't mind if I brew a potion here quickly. It'll only take two hours. You can go back to sleep or get cleaned up or something…"

Harry smiled at her and waved his hand in the air, indicating that she must go ahead.

0o0

Half an hour later, a cleaner and slightly more awake Harry entered his kitchen.

"Well, that smells … interesting," he commented, walking up to the simmering cauldron that Hermione was leaning over, and taking a deep breath. Interesting was probably the best word for it; it didn't smell bad, it didn't smell good, it smelled a bit … unearthly.

Hermione looked up from the cauldron and beamed at him. "It does, doesn't it? It is the _Delphdonum_. Oh, but you probably don't know what that is. It was only recently discovered," smiling even wider she added, "by Neville! Anyway, the Herbological Research Department is still officially testing it to see what its properties are, but they are so obvious… Anyway, it is a magical seawater plant and it has amazing healing powers. And if you combine them with the extract of peppermint – yes, peppermint, can you believe it – and the powered horn of a unicorn, its healing powers are multiplied!"

"Neville discovered it!" Harry beamed, "Our Neville? Neville Longbottom, Neville?" The rest of what Hermione had said had completely flown over his head.

"Yes. Neville Longbottom. One of the boys you shared a dorm room with for six years."

"Wow! That is brilliant!" Harry seated himself in one of the chairs around the table.

"Yes, it is. He is going to be really famous when this discovery gets out." Hermione smiled proudly.

"So, is this what you are doing in the Department of Mysteries?" Harry asked curiously.

"No," Hermione blushed. "I have been doing this at home in my spare time." She shrugged her shoulders. "Ginny has been helping me. She has also been testing the potion for me – I mean, you know how often you Aurors get injured on the job."

"Err… Hermione, was that safe?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Of course. I researched everything completely first."

Hermione glanced at her watch and Harry watched her count the seconds as they passed. She then picked up a silver ladle and began stirring. Hermione counted twelve clockwise turns and seven anti-clockwise turns. She repeated the cycle for ten minutes, never taking her eyes away from what she was doing. After the last stir, she took the ladle out quickly and sprinkled a pre-measured amount of a white powder over the top of the potion.

Hermione checked her watch again and sighed. "Whew! That was the difficult part. Now we just leave it to simmer for an hour." She sank into the chair across from Harry.

Harry stood up as quickly as his exhausted body would allow and busied himself with refreshments. He put a cup of tea in front of Hermione and sat down holding his mug of coffee.

"So, what _are_ you doing at work?" Harry asked, breaking the silence.

Hermione blushed. "Can't tell you. Anymore leads on the sick psychopath?"

"Can't tell you," Harry replied. Frowning, he added, "You aren't even supposed to know about the 'sick psychopath'."

They looked at each other, amusement dancing temporarily in their eyes. Hermione spoke first. "Things have really changed, haven't they? We could share the biggest secret about what would destroy Voldemort, but we can't even discuss work anymore. It just doesn't feel right."

"I know what you mean," he replied, looking at the steaming mug in his hands. He raised his head. "I miss the old days, when we were all working together as a team. We were stronger then."

Hermione just nodded. She stared pensively at her teacup, a sad but nostalgic look crossing her tired face. It seemed that the inevitable division of the three was affecting her as much as it was affecting Harry. He would be prepared to bet his invisibility cloak that Ron was feeling the loss just as much.

It was Hermione that broke the silence. "Why don't you come over to my place tonight. Ginny won't be there." she added quickly, noting the unsure look that had crept onto Harry's face. "Ron will come. It can be just like old times."

Harry grinned. It did sound like a good idea. "I'll try, Hermione," he promised. "It just depends on what happens at work."

* * *

Once again, thanks must be extended to my betas: Browneydweasley and LadyTonks 


	3. Chapter 3: Another Victim?

_**Chapter 3 – Another victim?**_

_Late Morning 7 July_

Harry walked into Auror Headquarters feeling better than he had done in almost five years. Hermione had been right, ('When had she ever been wrong?' Harry questioned); the yet-to-be-named potion was brilliant. No, it was better than brilliant! He practically bounced into his office feeling almost ready to handle whatever the day threw at him.

His first test was in the room. Lying on his desk was the latest copy of the Daily Prophet. Curious to see if the Prophet had yet managed to get their hands on the Muggle murder case, Harry picked it up and scanned the first few pages. Nothing. He let the paper fall back on his cluttered desk and his eyes fell on the new name. The _New_ Daily Prophet. A slight grin appeared on his face as he remembered how the _Old_ Daily Prophet had come to a sudden and sticky end.

It happened about 3 years ago. Death Eaters had forced their way into the Prophet, wanting to gain control of the printing run or something -he had never bothered to really find out why back then. The available Aurors were summoned and the most destructive battle since the fall of Lord Voldemort ensued. It was not the death count that had made it a destructive battle though, but the damage to property. Harry remembered his '_Reducto_' curse flying just to the right of a Death Eater, only to crash into Rita Skeeter's desk, disintegrating it into a pile of ashes. Unfortunately, the filing cabinet dedicated solely to Harry Potter had also been the 'unfortunate' victim of another badly aimed curse. The Prophet no longer had as much as a picture of him. But Harry was not the only Auror to have been a bit off target that day. The Auror Department had been one of many victims of the Prophets smear campaigns. It seemed that everyone was out for a bit of revenge. By the time the twelve Death Eaters were rounded up and caught, only the walls, floor and ceiling remained - and a lot of ash.

Harry smiled and ran his hands through his hair. That was one of the few happy memories he had of the past few years. But his smile froze as Stuart and McGrath walked into the room.

"So… who's the lucky girl?" Stuart grinned slyly, looking Harry up and down.

Harry felt his good mood disappear with the same speed that Mundungus could Disapparate from a petty crime scene. He felt uncomfortable as Stuart eyed him smugly, but he would be damned if he let them know that. "You're out of line," Harry stated coldly.

"Ah, come on Potter. We're just glad to see the rumours aren-" but Stuart didn't get any further. Harry flicked his wand quickly, silencing the Auror before the foolish man could finish the sentence. Not that Harry needed him too. He knew very well what the 'rumours' about him were saying.

"I told you, that was out of line." Harry didn't say more. His voice was cold and threatening. Stuart was staring at the wand, clasped unwaveringly in Harry's hand, with a lot of respect. Harry suppressed the urge to hex him, just for the Hell of it.

A cough near the door announced the arrival of Kingsley Shacklebolt. He was frowning, and Harry knew that he had heard enough.

"Why don't you two go and ask some useful questions and see if any reports are ready on yesterday's victim," Harry commanded, knowing there was no point in pretending that Kingsley hadn't heard.

The two Aurors almost physically jumped to attention at his words. It was blatantly obvious that they were very wary of a wand-wielding Harry Potter. The two Aurors shuffled past Kingsley at the door and skedaddled out of sight.

"You all right, Harry?" Kingsley asked, closing the door to allow them some privacy.

Harry shrugged a shoulder. "I'm fine." He rolled his eyes to hide his discomfort, walked around his desk and flopped into his chair.

"Good. Don't let them get to you. You know, I always forget how young you are," Kingsley grunted, shaking his head. "You are so old for your age, but at the same time, in other ways, you are still just a normal boy…"

"Thanks Kingsley, rub it in, why don't you." Harry groaned.

Kingsley chuckled. "It's not a bad thing. A very wise person once told me that youth was the most valuable gift one was ever given. Don't throw yours away just yet."

"Dumbledore?" Harry asked.

Kingsley smiled. "Yes, Dumbledore." He shuffled some parchment on his desk. It was a clear sign that he was not looking forward to another day cooped up in the office. Kingsley looked up at Harry again. "Do they treat you like that out on assignment?"

"No," Harry answered, shaking his head.

Kingsley grunted. "That's because they know that it is you that is keeping them alive out there. I think they are both aware of how lucky they were being given you as their leader."

Harry snorted at that idea. "That's hard to believe. They seem set on getting me killed."

Kingsley raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"They are just careless," Harry explained. "They don't think before they act. Field work is not their strength."

"I know." Kingsley said, sympathetically. "I have found an Auror who will be available shortly. Experienced, very experienced. But I don't think you will like it."

"Ah, come off it!" Harry exclaimed. "He can't be worse than working with those clowns."

Kingsley opened his mouth to comment, and hesitated. "Yes, yes… you are right. I will see what I can do."

oOo

By the time Stuart and McGrath returned, almost an hour had passed and Kingsley had left the office to see the new Aurors that had been recruited.

Harry looked up from his desk and was surprised to see that the Artefact-Auror had joined them.

"What's the news?" he asked standing up, his curiosity peaked. Harry extended his hand to Conleth Kildare, the Irish wizard working in the Crime Artefact Office, as an informal greeting.

Conleth returned the gesture and got straight to the point. "Well," he began, "I took a look at the crude weapon and found this," he pulled the weapon out of the bag in his hand. "Here, near the hilt, is a tiny number three etched in the metal." He pointed with a nicotine-stained finger at the mark on the weapon. "Now, this weapon – if you can call it that - was only recently shaped, so I figured that the number was intentional. So, I then looked through all the artefacts from the first victim." He dug his hand into the bag again, and this time pulled out a belt. "I found the number one etched here, on the back of the belt buckle. I didn't notice it at first because it just looks like a straight line, but there is no mistaking it, it was scratched out with the same thing. I have done at least five tests, and they all confirm it."

"So," Harry said slowly, his mind racing, "where is number two?"

Conleth shrugged his shoulders. "I have absolutely no idea. That's your job. There is one more thing though, Gutso sent this to us early this morning," he said, referring to Gusto, the Death Evaluation and Analysis Department specialist, by his most preferred nickname. He pulled something else from the bag. "This was stuck in the victims right hand with a temporary sticking charm. It's a –"

"Time-Turner," Harry finished for him.

"Well, no," Conleth replied, giving Harry a brief, but curious look. "It does look like one though. It is just an ordinary hourglass cased in a magical metal. Quite interesting actually." He looked at his watch briefly. "I must get going, lots to do." He dropped a folder, packed with parchment, onto Harry's desk. "That's all the information I gathered, and the photographs."

"Thanks," Harry replied, nodding his head and dismissing the Crime Artefact Auror.

Conleth started to leave, but paused at the door. Looking back at Harry he said, "Good luck with finding this guy. He looks like one sick and twisted, fucking bastard."

Harry just nodded. He sat back down at his desk again, and scrubbed his hands up and down his face, dislodging his glasses. He sighed loudly. "It looks like we have another body out there." Harry looked at Stuart. "Did you get the report from the D.E.A.D?"

"Yes, Sir." Stuart replied, holding a folder out for Harry.

Harry took it. "Thanks. Now I want the two of you to start looking through all the cases reported in the last two weeks. Maybe no one recognised it as one of ours."

"Yes, Sir," they said in unison, and left the room.

oOo

Harry sat at his desk, his face in his hands, his glasses perching on his fingers.

"What's happened?" Kingsley asked, returning to the room, looking just as harassed as Harry felt.

Harry dropped his hands and straightened his glasses. "Just news from Kildare." He proceeded to explain to Kingsley what they had just learnt.

"Another body out there somewhere?" Kingsley looked disgusted. "But why didn't you get another message?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe his owl died," he added dryly.

Kingsley chuckled slightly. "Yeah, well. You will still find this guy, I know you, Harry. If it was in the hands of the idiots I have just had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting…" Kingsley just let his voice trail off.

"That bad?" Harry asked.

No traces of humour lingered on Kingsley's face as he simply said, "Worse." He limped more noticeably as he made his way to his seat and slumped gratefully into it.

Harry declined from commenting further. Instead, he opened the file from the Death Evaluation and Analysis Department. He started to scan it, only the most prominent things catching his attention. "William McMillan, Muggle; 24 years of age; date of death: 3 July 2004; body brought in on the 6th July; cause of death: Avada Kedavra; other medical notes: tortured, Cruciatus curse, magical incisions…" Harry shook his head. It was nothing he couldn't have guessed for himself. He pulled the information from the Crime Artefact Division closer and opened that file. Harry flipped over the tormenting note without reading it – he didn't have to. He scanned the photographs very quickly, flipping through them one by one. They still turned his stomach. He read the report on the 'sword', but nothing there caught his attention. The next thing was the report on the hourglass. Harry read that very quickly too. He barely registered that those particular hourglasses were very fashionable in the sixteenth century and that the only remaining whole specimens were likely to be owned by old, wealthy wizarding families. The only thing that caught his eye was that the hourglass, (the part that was not made of glass), was made of_ aurarius ferramenta_,which was described as being an indestructible magical metal that was similar in compound to iron but was golden in colour.

Harry picked up the hourglass and looked at it closely. He took a quill in his spare hand and tried to scratch the base of the hourglass. Nothing. He took his wand out his pocket and muttered "Sectumsempra," under his breath, while carefully aiming his wand at just its base. Not even a scratch appeared. He then clutched the hourglass in his right hand and bashed it up and down on the edge of his desk.

"What on earth are you doing, Harry?" Kingsley asked frowning at him with concern.

"Just checking something," Harry replied, studying the base of the hourglass once more. It still didn't have a mark on it. After a pause he continued, "You see, this is made of a magical metal, so it cannot be marked."

"OK," Kingsley said suspiciously, "and why is that so important?"

"Um… well, it's not that important. I was just curious."

Kingsley didn't push the matter further.

Harry stood and walked to the small door that was set about waist-height in the wall. He whispered the password and the door disappeared, revealing a draw. "Case 7221, Documents," he said, tapping the draw with his wand, and it shot open. He stuffed his hand in and pulled out the requested documents. He pushed it closed and started flipping through the parchments as he headed back to his desk. He heard the magical cabinet close and lock behind him.

There had to be a connection, he knew it. He opened the file for the first victim.

Harry didn't read the note that came with the first victim either. As with the one that came with second victim, he knew it already:

_Potter, His murder you will regret._

_You owe your life to clear the debt._

_A plan has been in motion set,_

_And this is not an idle threat.  
_

_Body One for the Great War's vet._

_My appetite is for murder whet._

_Trapped you are within my net._

_Your nightmares, soon, will make you sweat.  
_

_HIS MURDER YOU WILL NOT FORGET!_

He flipped through the photographs of the first victim. She had not been murdered as violently as the second one, but the images still disgusted him. Trying to ignore the violence that she had succumbed to, Harry stared at her face. She was an unattractive Muggle. According to her file she was in her early thirties, but she didn't look it. This woman had lived a hard life. She looked at least ten years older than she really was. It seemed clear that she enjoyed the dance scene. She sported a brilliant shade of purple hair, and wore clothes that barely contained her bulging mass. Her knee-high boots were not completely zipped - her calves did not allow for that. And the tire above the waistband of her tight mini skirt was anything but alluring.

Harry picked up the belt that Kildare had left on his desk. He turned it over in his hand and looked at the tiny digit etched in the back. It was not surprising that Kildare, even with his sharp eye had missed it. He flipped it back over in his hand and looked at the big, plastic red bead that was set in the buckle. It looked very cheap. His thumb automatically traced the mark in the leather where the name of Muggle company had been burnt into it.

Nothing made sense. But Harry was sure he was missing something obvious.

He scrubbed his scalp irritably with his fingers. Not even staring at the files for hours would help put the pieces that he knew were there together.

Kingsley coughed loudly and Harry looked up at him. "What?" he asked curiously.

"You look like you are going to strain something," Kingsley muttered. "Why don't you take a break for a bit, clear your head. I find that helps me see things differently."

Harry smiled ever so slightly. "And what do you have in mind?"

"Nothing much," said Kingsley nonchalantly. "Perhaps you would care to join an old Auror in the duelling arena?"

Harry's face lit up. Yes, there was very little that relieved stress better than a good one-on-one battle with Kingsley.

"Ahh, you think I am no match for you," Kingsley said smiling. "I'll just have to show you then, won't I?" He laughed at Harry, before Disapparating away.

Harry Disapparated seconds later.

oOo

As soon as Harry felt his feet make contact with the ground in the duelling arena, he threw himself backwards and rolled. Kingsley was a brilliant dueller, and he was not resigned to just playing fair. Without wasting a second, Harry sprang to his feet again and moved. Kingsley's laughter filled the room, and Harry heard a spell crash into the ground mere inches behind him.

"You're a quick one, aren't you?" Kingsley laughed.

That was the clue Harry needed. He had not been in the room for three seconds yet, and he was still trying to orientate himself from the Apparition. But now he knew where Kingsley was. He cast a spell in that direction, and heard Kingsley move to get out of its way. Harry smiled to himself. That was a pretty accurate guess.

Two seconds later, Harry was no longer disadvantaged from Apparating in last. He threw another jinx in Kingsley's direction, while moving out of the way of the one Kingsley had thrown at him. Harry's spell had just missed Kingsley's body, but it caught his robes. They billowed out from the force of the magic. Their movement caused a mild distraction, and Harry thought '_Expelliarmus_! _Impedimenta!_' as he flung the spells, directly one after the other, at Kingsley. Kingsley stood, frozen on the spot, his wand flying through the air, the spells having hit him perfectly in the stomach.

Harry relaxed and stood upright. He looked at his watch and laughed. "Eight seconds," he grinned. "That's your slowes-" But at that precise moment he saw something move to his left, out of the corner of his eye. He threw himself backwards, yelling "_Stupefy_," Two spells went flying past him, one from the left and one from the right, and one Auror, half out of his invisibility cloak landed on the ground, stunned by Harry's curse. "Kingsley, you bastard, you set me up," Harry growled as he dodged more spells. How many Aurors were in the room with him? Harry knew he had to work that out. "_Protego_!" he bellowed, as three more spells were shot his way. The spells ricocheted off his shield and another Auror hit the ground. Harry heard movement behind himself. He threw himself flat on the ground as he turned to face the sound, never pausing. He quickly scanned the area for a clue while rolling to his right. There it was, a shoelace dragging on the ground. "_Stupefy_," Harry thought, and the shoelace's owner crashed to the ground. Harry scanned the area for any other revealing clues, still moving all the time. Spells were hitting the ground inches away from him. And then he smelt something – the unpleasant, stale smell of sweat. Someone nearby was scared. Harry, still rolling, aimed his wand at the blank space. His ears were straining, trying to hear more than the curses that were crashing around him. And then he heard it. It was faint, but that was definitely a hesitant breath being drawn. Without pausing, he cast another silent _Stupefy_ charm at the hidden Auror. The invisible Auror crashed to the ground, a foot showing from under the cloak.

Harry continued rolling, not even hesitating to see the victim land. He took note of the spells landing inches away from him on his right. He paused for a millisecond and then rolled to his left. He flung himself back on his feet as he threw up another shield charm. A stunner hit his shield, and he heard someone swear nearby. "_Stupefy_!" he thought again, and the bad-mouthed Auror hit the deck. Silence filled the room, but Harry knew better. There had to be at least one more person there, more likely three. "_Accio_ invisibility cloaks!" he thought. Three Aurors were revealed as their cloaks billowed out around their legs like sails. "_Stupefy_! _Stupefy_!" Harry thought, dropping two within a second. Now there was one left. "Why don't you take it off and face me," Harry taunted, hoping to hear a sound.

He couldn't believe it when the Auror started to remove his cloak. Harry stood up and tapped his wand against his arm. "Are you insane?" he asked. "You are actually taking the bloody thing off? How can you defend yourself when your hands are busy?"

The Auror stammered something and turned a violent shade of red.

"Get it off already!" Harry exclaimed impatiently, his adrenaline pumping. It was no wonder Aurors were dying like flies.

The young Auror dropped his cloak and stood before Harry, his wand outstretched and shaking in his trembling hand.

"_Stupefy_!" Harry said, and the kid collapsed to the ground, not having even attempted to throw up a shield.

Harry turned to face Kingsley, who was just starting to get some movement back. Kingsley looked very disappointed. "Eight in 1 minute, 34 seconds, nine in 1 and 42 seconds if you count me. And it would have been a lot less if you had cursed the kid instead of giving him a chance. He took 26 seconds to take off the stupid cloak."

"Just please don't tell me they are on active duty yet," Harry said.

Kingsley didn't reply. He just lowered his gaze and shook his head.

"You do realise that they don't stand a chance out there! They will be dead in a day!"

"I know that, Harry, but it isn't my call to make. If it was up to me, they wouldn't even be Aurors."

Harry looked around the room at the exposed arms and legs that were sticking out from the cloaks. He felt sick to his stomach. These kids were going to become statistics, not heroes.

* * *

AN: Apologies for the late update. I didn't realise anyone was interested so I gave this up as a waste of time. Schedule depending, I will update at least once a month from now on.


	4. Chapter 4: Attack on Diagon Alley

**Chapter 4 – Attack on Diagon Alley**

_Mid Afternoon 7 July_

Harry paced up and down the duelling arena. The eight young Aurors, who were about to be sent out on active duty were watching him with obvious admiration and awe – well, that was mostly correct. The boy that had been the last to fall, the one who removed the invisibility cloak, was staring at his feet.

"Firstly, you should not have waited for me to take Kingsley out," he said, not stopping his irritated walk. "He had my complete attention, I was distracted; I didn't even know you were there. You should have taken advantage of that."

"But isn't that a very Slytherin thing to do?" one Auror asked.

Harry actually stopped pacing at this and gawked at the kid who had spoken. "You are fighting Death Eaters, not the bloody Royal British Wizard Guard! Death Eaters don't give a damn about playing fair! If they see a weakness, they use it! They will kill the people you love, just to break you spirit! They will torture those you care about in front of your eyes when you can't do anything to stop it! They will force you to make decisions you could never prepare yourself for – who do your save, your father or the love of your life, you can't save both! That is what you are up against. If you see an opportunity, you bloody well take it, and I don't care if Salazar Slytherin himself would be shocked. YOU TAKE IT!"

Harry turned on his heel and began pacing again. Everyone was dead silent, the only sound in the room coming from Harry's Auror boots as he walked.

Harry took a deep breath to calm himself down before speaking again. "Secondly, you must not simply react, you must anticipate!" His comment was met with blank faces. "Fine, take out your wands." he ordered, his tone dripping with exasperation. "Everyone try and stupefy me."

Harry continued pacing and heard the eight beams of red light crash into the wall behind him. "There. You just reacted. You went for where I was, not where I was going to be. Did you really think that I was going to stop walking and let myself get stunned? No Death Eater is going to stay in the same place waiting for your spells to hit them. You must actually do some work." He paused to take a deep breath. "Next, what is the purpose of an invisibility cloak?"

Someone mumbled, "To make you invisible."

"_Yes!_ So your enemy doesn't know where you are!" Harry said, spinning on his heel again and looking at his audience. "And what is the point of wearing one when you have a shoelace sticking out, if you dislodge the cloak trying to cast a spell, if you make a noise when you move, or if you swear when you miss your target? Your sloppiness is letting the enemy know exactly where you _are_!"

Most of the kids had dropped their gazes and, like the cloak boy, were staring embarrassedly at their feet.

"And one last thing," Harry continued, "I recognised two jelly-legs jinxes and one Furnunculus Curse being thrown at me. This is not Hogwarts. You fight to take your opponent _down_! You must stun them! _AVADA KEDAVRA!"_ Harry bellowed pointing his wand across the room. He watched the green light rush across the arena, the sound of speeding death the only thing audible. The spell hit the wall and vanished, as though it had never been cast. Faces turned to him in unison. "That is what you are up against," he said, softly. "If that touches you, you will become another name on the obituaries page." Wordlessly, Harry conjured a chair and sat down in front of them. "I don't want to scare you… Actually, screw that. I _do_ want to scare you. It isn't fun and heroics out there. It is life and death. Aurors die everyday. If you want to survive out there, you are going to have to think quickly and learn faster."

Harry saw some of the Aurors sharing nervous glances.

"But, you are _Harry Potter_!" one of the kids murmured, just audibly. "There is no _way_ any of us could beat you in a duel."

Harry grunted in disgust. "That is rubbish and you know it. I am no different from anyone here in this room."

"But you defeated _You-Know-Who_!" one of the boys on the right added.

"Yes," said Harry, standing up again and continuing his pacing from earlier, "but not because I was more powerful. I beat him because I didn't give up. Anyone of you could have done it."

The kids sitting around Harry shot each other incredulous looks. They seemed to think that Harry was vastly underestimating himself or else trying to give them a false sense of confidence.

Harry really hated this. He had hoped that as time had passed, people would stop their stupid hero worship of him. Unfortunately, as his new battles and victories had become public knowledge, his image had only grown – distorted and expanded as all good wives-tales did. "You think I am kidding?" he asked, a sharp tone creeping into his voice. "You think that I was born with the talent to defeat him? You think that I did it all alone? That if it wasn't for me, Lord Voldemort would still be here?" Harry laughed sarcastically. "You're wrong! The only reason _we_ won that day was because _we_ kept fighting! _We_ knew what the consequences would be if we lost! _We_ knew what was at stake! And we _prepared_ the best we could! Many Aurors and other brave people were responsible for the fall of Voldemort. We went in there knowing we were facing death. We gave everything we had; many gave their lives. We fought dirty, we fought as a team, we watched each other's backs. Some great people fought there along side me: Alastor Moody, Remus Lupin, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Ron and Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger... Any one of them could have taken out Lord Voldemort. With the right training, any of you could have too."

The silence in the room was deafening. Just from the looks on the faces before him, Harry knew that they didn't really believe him. The legend he represented was bigger than he was.

"But…" one boy stammered, "you defeated him as a baby, and again when you were only eleven, and-"

"Yes," Harry interrupted, "and your point is?"

"How can you say you didn't have the power to do it, that you weren't born with it?"

Harry was not going to go into those details with a bunch of kids he barely knew. He rolled his eyes and spoke. "Do you know who the last person on our side to fall was?" Harry didn't wait for them to answer, "Ginny Weasley. If anyone has a natural talent it is her. She was barely over seventeen, and had never had half the opportunities that the rest of us had to train, and she didn't have the same experience fighting Death Eaters. She stood along side us and fought better than most. She fought and beat Death Eaters who had more experience killing people than she had years on this earth!" Harry didn't know what made him say that when he had tried to forget everything about Ginny since that fateful day when Voldemort fell.

The silence continued when Harry stopped talking. He walked over to the chair he had conjured earlier and sat down. More calmly he asked, "Why did you decide to become Aurors?"

"Because you are one!" one Auror called from the back row.

"Here, here!" two other Aurors responded.

Harry frowned. They hadn't heard a word he had said. "That is the most pathetic reason I have ever heard," he snarled. "Do you think I want unqualified kids running off to meet their deaths because I work here? Go and find another line of work. You aren't cut out for this." He waved his hand through the air dismissively, as though chasing an annoying fly. He turned his head and looked at the remaining five. "What are your reasons?"

Harry sat through three more poor leaps of logic and one 'I don't know'. It seemed that most were under the illusion that being an Auror was exciting and fun.

Finally he set his eyes on the cloak boy. "And why did you join?"

"Because I had nothing left to lose," the kid mumbled, just audibly. "The Death Eaters have already killed everyone I have ever … I have ever cared for."

Harry eyed the kid, a different look crossing his face. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Peter, Peter Holmes."

0o0

After an hour of a gruelling duelling session with the new recruits, in which Harry still had not had a spell come anywhere near him, he dismissed them. He had a strong feeling that a few of those faces would not be returning to Auror duties, and the thought satisfied him. He walked back to his office and sat down in his chair.

"So, did you manage to convince a few to resign?" Kingsley asked, trying not to smile too broadly.

"I might have." Harry responded, a smile flickering across his lips.

"Good." Kingsley opened his mouth to say something further, but was cut off with the arrival of a very harassed looking wizard.

"Shacklebolt. Death Eaters in Diagon Alley. We need people down there now! They are destroying the place!"

"Where?" Kingsley asked, as he stood with a speed that defied his disability.

"In Diagon Alley –"

"I got that part, man! Diagon Alley is a big place. Where about?"

"Oh, near Gringotts."

Kingsley shot a hurried glance at Harry who was already on his feet.

"Weasley's and Quality Quidditch?" Harry asked.

Kingsley nodded. "I'll take Weasley's."

Harry nodded. "I'll go so long. You gather the troops."

Kingsley tried to protest, but Harry Apparated away.

0o0

Harry opened his eyes. He was standing in the middle of Quality Quidditch Supplies. Smoke filled his nostrils and terror-filled screams penetrated the walls from outside.

"Thank god you are here, Harry!" a voice said from beside him. "They just walked past. They are heading towards The Leaky Cauldron!"

Harry swore loudly. "You serious, Angelina? Shit! Half the Aurors are heading for the other end of Diagon Alley!" He hurried to the boarded up door and pried it open a fraction so he could see out. Smoking destruction greeted his eyes. Harry could see two bodies laying face down in the street. He knew that there had to be more out there. He released a string of words that would have made even Ron blush, and then looked back at Angelina. "Look, more Aurors are coming through here. Send them in the right direction, will you?" And with that, Harry slipped out of Quality Quidditch Supplies. The last thing he heard from Angelina Johnson was her yelling, "Harry, you can't go out there alone!"

The colourful, bustling image of Diagon Alley from his younger years seemed so long ago, Harry often wondered if it had been a dream. No vendors, not even those trying to make some extra Galleons with the trade of questionable amulets, were in the street anymore. Windows were boarded up, either because the shops had closed, or because it was just safer that way. Signs dangled at odd angles, broken and neglected. No witches or wizards wandered around. Framed in the Dementor-darkened sky, nothing, in Harry's opinion, had ever looked more desolate.

Harry began a cautious jog towards The Leaky Cauldron, his Auror robes flapping out behind him. He clutched his wand in his hand, ready to respond at a moments notice. As he rounded the slight bend in Diagon Alley, he ducked behind a dustbin. He peered out cautiously from behind it. Harry counted twenty Death Eaters standing near the archway that led to The Leaky Cauldron. Some Death Eaters were aiming spells at buildings randomly, laughing as screams were magnified from within their confines and bricks crumbled to the ground. Others had cornered eight stray people who had been out shopping or minding their stores. Even from the distance he was at, Harry could recognise the fear on the 'hostages' faces. He watched a mother push her two crying children behind her back, desperately trying to keep them as safe as she could. Harry's grip on his wand tightened as anger raced through him. For the Death Eaters, it was just another pleasure seeking venture that would, undoubtedly, reaffirm their power. More innocent people would be killed today.

Harry moved out from behind the bin and ducked into the entrance of one of the nearby shops. He looked at his watch. The other Aurors were taking too much time to arrive. He could not wait any longer – those _people_ couldn't wait any longer. The Death Eaters would start killing any moment now. Harry pulled a small box out of his pocket and tapped it with his wand. The box grew and he opened it, revealing twelve golf ball-shaped objects. He took out a ball and unscrewed it quickly. Harry pulled a hair from his head and shoved it inside the ball before screwing it closed again. He pressed the tiny button on its outside. Instantly, it became invisible in his hand. He did this again with the remaining eleven balls. It took him less than a minute to finish the job.

Harry looked up and lobbed three invisible balls into the air passed the Death Eaters. He started counting under his breath as he stuffed the remainder into the pocket of his Auror robes. Just before he reached seven, he aimed a curse at the Death Eater who was doing the most talking. The Death Eater fell to the ground stunned. The remaining Death Eaters stopped laughing at once and looked around warily. As Harry whispered the number ten, he watched an image of himself pop up on the other side of the Death Eaters with a loud crack. The Death Eaters spun around and green curses raced towards the second Harry. But before the spells could hit, the 'impersonator' vanished and appeared again five meters away, once again with a loud bang. Harry grinned to himself. The 'New and Improved' Decoy Detonators were definitely amazing. Harry sent seven more stunners flying at the Death Eaters. With their backs turned to him, he hit his marks clearly. There were only twelve left.

Unfortunately, it was about at this point when one of the Death Eaters realised that the 'person' who kept popping up was merely a decoy. He yelled out a warning, and the Death Eaters turned, facing the direction Harry was in. Harry rolled three more invisible Decoy Detonators towards the Death Eaters. He grinned and Apparated to where his first decoys were still appearing and vanishing behind them. He shot another two stunners at the Death Eaters. As two Death Eaters crashed to the ground, one of the Harry decoys popped up in front of them. Unforgivables charged through the air, but hit nothing, as the second decoy popped into being and the first disappeared.

Harry fired off more spells, constantly aware of the hostages that were trapped. Their looks of pure terror drove Harry further. He had to get them away from all this.

"One of them is the real Potter!" one of the Death Eaters called to the others.

Harry Apparated back to the shop entrance. He knew that the Detonators would only act as a partial distraction now and not offer him cover. He needed to make more time.

Seven Death Eaters still stood, their wands raised. Harry put his hand into his pocket and threw the remaining Decoy Detonators in the direction of the Death Eaters. He started to count the seconds again.

"Come out, Potter! We know you are there!" one of the Death Eaters called. Harry was sure he recognised the voice, but he couldn't place it at that moment.

This time, as one of the newly tossed Detonators sprang to life, the Death Eater whose voice Harry couldn't place, hit it with a curse. The Detonator shattered, shards of dark plastic spraying out across the street.

"Aim for the base of the images!" the Death Eater called out, and Harry watched as a few more of his Decoys were eliminated. He had hoped that they would have bought him a bit more time. It was one thing taking on eight training Aurors at once; but seven Death Eaters who were throwing around the Avada Kedavra curse like it was snow on a winter's day was quite another thing. He also had the bystanders to think about. He couldn't let a curse land anywhere near them. Harry peered out around the wall that was concealing him. He fired another two stunners at the Death Eaters. Two more Death Eaters hit the ground. That was better. Seven was taking a risk, but five was by far more do-able. Harry grabbed the empty box that once contained the Decoy Detonators, waved his wand over it, and shoved it into his pocket. After taking a deep breath, he Apparated back to the other side of the Death Eaters.

As his feet made contact with Diagon Alley again, he moved. He could not stand in the same place for long now. Beams of green light charged through the air towards him. Harry ducked and dodged them, casting spells back at them just as quickly. Observation and movement meant everything at the moment. Three more Death Eaters hit the ground. Only two remained.

Then, from behind, Harry heard the spell a fraction before he felt it. "CRUCIO!"

His body convulsed in the instant agony. He dropped to the ground, barely managing to keep his wand in his hand. He felt as though his arms were going to bend backwards beyond their breaking points. All he could hear were his own screams echoing in his ears, like he was underwater. And then the pain stopped. Knowing he had no time to waste before either another Cruciatus Curse, or worse, the Avada Kedavra curse was sent his way, Harry forced himself to roll away. He knew there was no point in trying to stand on his trembling legs at that moment. He raised his wand quickly in his shaking hand and dropped the unseen Death Eater that had been behind him. Harry twisted on his back, his wand aiming between his knees. He had been expecting to see the two standing Death Eaters aiming their wands at him. What he did see, though, sent chills through his body. He saw the taller of the two Death Eaters cast a jet of green light down Diagon Alley. Harry knew without seeing that that curse was being aimed at the approaching Aurors.

"NO!" Harry bellowed. He sent a stunner flying at the Death Eater responsible. The man crumpled to the ground and the remaining Death Eater Apparated away, knowing that he didn't stand a chance alone.

Harry got to his feet as fast as his tortured body would let him. His eyes immediately flew to the cries he could hear coming from up the alley. He knew, before he saw the lifeless form on the ground, that one of the Aurors was dead. Knowing that there was nothing he could do for the Auror, Harry headed towards the captives in the Alley. The mother had sunk to her knees, her children clutched to her chest, her ghostly pale face pressed into their hair. The only bit of colour on her face came from her red eyes that were spilling silent tears of gratitude and disbelief down her face. She was whispering words Harry couldn't make out to her children.

Slowly she looked up into Harry's eyes. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for saving my babies."

Harry found himself shaking his head. He couldn't think of anything to say, so he thrust the empty box that had held the Decoy Detonators towards her. "Take this," he said, "it's a Portkey that will take you to Quality Quidditch Supplies. Angelina Johnson will let you Floo home from there."

The woman took the box in her hand without actually releasing the child in that arm.

"Thank you," she whispered again, "if there is ever anything-"

Harry shook his head. "Just stay alive."

He watched as the woman and her children were jerked away, vanishing before his eyes. Hesitantly, he turned and headed towards the Aurors. Lying on the ground, clearly dead, was one of the boys he had been trying to dissuade from joining the Aurors that very morning. Harry didn't even know his name. The rest of the young, training Aurors were staring at the body with disbelief etched on their faces. It always came as a shock to the young when they realised they weren't immortal.

And then Harry noticed the look on Peter Holmes's face as he stood huddled with the other Aurors, staring at their fallen comrad. It wasn't shock; it was just numb acceptance. And Harry knew that Peter knew what death was about.

* * *

A/N: Apologies for the delay. Life is busy.


	5. Chapter 5: Consequences

**Chapter 5 – Consequences**

_Mid Afternoon 7 July_

Harry walked in to his office, only to find a very irate Kingsley Shacklebolt waiting for him. Kingsley was pacing up and down the room, as fluidly as his limp would allow him, his hands clenched into fists, pressing into the sides of his thighs.

Harry jumped slightly as the door slammed closed behind him. "Err… Kingsley?"

Kingsley turned to face Harry. His eyes were wide and his nostrils were flared. He lumbered up to Harry and grabbed a fistful of Harry's robes just under the collar. He pushed Harry backwards across the room.

Harry didn't resist, and only when he felt the cold stone of the wall pressing into his back, did he speak again. "Kingsley?"

"Shut up!" Kingsley snapped. He angled his fist so that his knuckles were pressing into Harry's sternum. He was so close to Harry that Harry could smell the coffee on his breath.

"If you EVER do something as asininely idiotic like that again," Kingsley snarled as he pounded his fist into Harry's chest, "I will personally kick you out of the Auror Department PERMANENTLY! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?" But Kingsley didn't wait for Harry to even open his mouth. "You could have got yourself killed! If you ever pull another stunt like that!" Thump! Harry was thrust against the wall again as Kingsley's fist struck him for the second time.

"Kingsley…" Harry started to say, but Kingsley hit him again with the fist that was still knotted in his robes.

"What the fucking hell were you thinking, Potter? Twenty-one Death Eaters on your own!" Thump! "I thought you had more sense than that!" Thump! "Do you _want_ to get yourself killed?" Thump! "I have every mind to suspend your arse!" Kingsley put all his remaining anger into the force behind the next punch.

Harry winced as his bones dug into the stone wall behind him.

"You know the reality out there, Harry. You can't afford to take risks like that."

Harry tensed expectantly, but no blow came this time. Kingsley had spent his anger.

Slowly Kingsley released the furious grip on Harry's robes and turned away from him. Without turning to face Harry, Kingsley whispered in what could only be described as a pained tone, "For God's sake Harry, I don't want to bury you too!"

Finally, after a chilling silence, Harry opened his mouth. "I – I … Kingsley, I had to do something… I couldn't just watch…"

Kingsley looked back at Harry and Harry could read a certain amount of understanding on the wizened old Auror's face.

More softly than Harry had ever heard Kingsley speak, he said, "Consider yourself suspended for the rest of the day. Get a check-up from St. Mungo's while you're at it. I want the results on my desk by 7am tomorrow, sharp."

Harry forced himself not to groan out loud. Kingsley knew how much he detested St Mungo's.

Just as Harry was about to turn to leave the room, Kinsley threatened, "And if you EVER do something as stupid as that again, I'll send you for psyche evaluations. I think anyone would have a field day inside your head."

Harry decided to take this as his cue to leave.

0o0

Harry entered St. Mungo's and was greeted with the usual enthusiasm that came with his presence, expected or otherwise. He was led to a private ward by a rather awestruck witch, where he sat on the edge of the bed and waited rather impatiently.

After a few minutes, a different witch, wearing Healer's Assistant robes (that Harry immediately noticed were unbuttoned rather daringly low in front) entered the room. Her cheeks were pink and she kept adjusting her hair with her fingers. Harry looked her up and down quickly. She looked a few years older than him. One thing that didn't miss his scrutiny was circular indentation around her ring finger. Harry felt his irritation growing.

"Good day, Ha-, Mr Potter," she said, the blush on her cheeks spreading down her neck and colouring the exposed triangle of flesh on her chest. "Could you please remove your clothes. The Healer will be here shortly."

Harry frowned as he pulled his Auror robes over his head, and saw the ill-disguised look of delight on the nurse's face. "Is this really necessary?" he asked, rather coldly.

"Oh yes, Mr Potter. The test Mr Shacklebolt has requested requires it," she bubbled.

Harry gave her a particularly dark look before placing his wand very close to himself on the bed. He kicked off his shoes and pulled his t-shirt off. He undid the fly on his trousers and pushed them over his hips. He sat down on the bed defiantly, still wearing his underwear, and put his hand on his wand. "I am not taking another thing off."

"Oh no, that is quite all right," the witch said, but Harry did not miss the brief look of disappointment that crossed her face.

He watched her as she stared at him unabashedly, her eyes wandering almost vulture-like over him. Harry folded his arms across his chest and crossed his legs. This was another reason why he hated hospitals.

Fortunately the Healer did not take too long to arrive. He walked in quickly, scanning the sheaf of parchments in his hands. "Good day, Mr Potter," he said, looking up at Harry briefly. "I believe I have you to thank for a considerably diminished workload today."

"I don't know about that." Harry scowled as the witch broke into stifled giggles. "We got there too late."

The Healer seemed to catch Harry annoyance with his assistant and dismissed her with a short jerk of his head. He then placed the parchment on his desk and then looked at Harry again. "Now that we are alone, let's see about turning your file into a novella, shall we."

The basic examination was like all others Harry had been through. The Healer scribbled notes in his spider web-like, illegible scrawl. Harry had long since given up trying to read these reports, accepting that if anything serious were there, he would find out soon enough.

"Lie back for me please, Mr Potter."

Harry did as he was told, although he was feeling uncomfortable. There was only so much intense observation one could endure before they started to feel naked to the bone.

"Just relax," the Healer said, uncrossing Harry's arms and laying them at his sides on the bed. "This is a new test that Healers have been working on for some time. This is what Mr. Shacklebolt wants you to undergo."

"What is it?" Harry asked curiously, as the Healer ran his wand slowly up the length of Harry's body, muttering a spell under his breath.

"Well…" the Healer began as he watched a blue light start to form and hover in the air above Harry's body, "you see, your body has a memory. Every time you undergo negative magic, a residue remains."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"Well, think of a Muggle injury. If you cut yourself, it leaves a scar. Sometimes the scar is very faint and you can't see it with the naked eye, but a scar remains nonetheless. Now the same thing happens with magic. Every time you are exposed to dark magic, it leaves a 'scar', a trace of negative energy that never completely heals. Obviously, it stands to reason that there is only so much negative energy your body can endure before it starts to have a permanent affect on one; take the patients in the permanent damage ward for instance."

"So basically, you are checking-"

"To see how many times you have been cursed," the Healer finished.

Harry groaned inwardly. This was a test he was doomed to fail since he was just over a year old.

The Healer sat down and pulled out a quill. He picked up the parchments on his desk and said, "While we wait for the results, I want to ask you some questions. Answer them as accurately as you can please."

Harry shrugged his shoulders. His history was so public, there was no chance he would be able to even attempt to pull the wool over the Healer's eyes. At that thought, he wondered why the Healer didn't just refer to the Daily Prophet.

"So," began the Healer, "how many Unforgivable Curses have you been under?"

"You want me to count all of them?" Harry asked incredulously.

"No," the Healer chuckled, "I mean, the types of Unforgivable Curses."

"Oh, all three." Harry replied.

"Yes, of course." The Healer scribbled more hieroglyphics on the parchment. "How old were … tut tut… one. Next question. How old were you when you were under the Cruciatus Curse for the first time?"

"Fourteen," Harry answered.

"Really! That young!" The Healer looked up at Harry from over the parchments, a disgusted look on his face. "And the Imperius Curse?"

"Fourteen."

"Obviously, that was not your year."

"No, I guess you could say it wasn't."

"Have you been hit with the Avada Kedavra curse since?"

"No," Harry replied, "not for their lack of trying though."

The Healer nodded, "That's understandable. And, when last were you under the Cruciatus Curse?"

Harry paused and considered his answer. "About an hour and three-quarters ago?"

"Good Lord!" The Healer's quill flew across the parchment with such speed he resembled Rita Skeeter for the briefest of seconds. "And dare I ask about the Imperius Curse?"

"Oh," Harry chuckled, "they don't try that on me anymore. I could throw it off when I was fourteen. They don't waste their time."

"Well, that is good to know. Now, I am going to read a list of lesser hexes. They are just as dark, but not classified as such by the Ministry. Just answer yes or no, if you have been under them or not."

The Healer began reading the list, and Harry was pleasantly surprised to find that he said 'no' more often than 'yes'.

"Seems like you only have a flare for the most dangerous," the Healer commented.

Harry nodded vaguely, but he wasn't really listening to him anymore. His eyes were drawn to a floating electric blue light above him that had formed a replica of his own body. It was starting to change colours in certain areas, and Harry was curious as to what it meant. As he watched the head turn from blue to red to black, he was certain he could guess. The torso had red patches mixed with orange, and the arms and legs were a variety of yellows and oranges. One way or another, Harry knew that the results were not going to be favourable. His suspicions were confirmed as he heard the Healer put the parchments down and the quill clatter to the floor noisily.

"Goodness gracious me! I have never – I can't believe…" the Healer ejaculated. "This is by far the … the most outrageous reading I have ever seen! It can't be right, surely?" The Healer drew out his wand again and redid the examination.

Harry watched the lights reform above him.

"I just don't understand…" the Healer mumbled.

"What?" Harry asked curiously, trying to prop himself up on his elbows.

The Healer put his hand on Harry's chest and kept him down. He flicked his wand at the Autumn-coloured projection above Harry and numbers started to rise above it. The Healer's eyes widened as he read the numbers.

"What?" Harry asked again, more impatiently this time.

"Well… I don't know how to explain this, but you have more negative spell damage than anyone I have ever seen before. And that includes the worst cases in the Permanent Spell Damage ward."

"Well, I guess an Avada Kedavra to the head as a baby had something to do with that." Harry muttered.

"Yes, I dare say it would. But that is not the point, Mr Potter. Your levels have surpassed all records. And I mean greatly surpassed them!"

The Healer returned to his desk and, after groping on the floor for a few moments, sat taking notes. He was mumbling while he was writing, "Of course, no one has ever survived an Avada Kedavra before, so that obviously has added to the norm… And of course, if he was under the Cruciatus less than two hours ago, then a lot of the reading could still be immediate damage… But this much spell damage in someone so young …"

Harry just lay there. His mouth had fallen slightly open with questions he wanted to ask, but couldn't quite think of how to word. His greatest concern, though, was not of his own health - after all, he felt perfectly fine - but of how this was going to effect him at work. Would he still be allowed to work?

"Err…" Harry eventually stammered, "what are you going to say to Kingsley Shacklebolt?"

"The truth, Mr Potter! The truth! The health of my patients is my top priority, and to be totally honest with you, any neglect on my part with _the_ Harry Potter would cost me more than my job and reputation." The Healer lowered his head again and carried on writing. Dismissively he added, "You may get dressed."

Harry didn't need telling twice. He practically sprang off the bed and threw his clothes back on. He stood in the awkward silence as the Healer finished writing up his findings.

"I will get these to Mr Shacklebolt before the end of the day," the Healer said.

"Will I still be allowed to work?" Harry asked. "I mean, what is going to happen now?"

"Well, that will mostly be up to Mr Shacklebolt. But the one thing that we can't overlook either, is that you do appear to be in perfect health. I can't explain it; I can't understand it. From all our research on this, you should be... well… dead."

"Now that's a comforting thought," Harry remarked.

The Healer looked apologetic. "I am just telling you the truth. Anyway, we are done here, you can go if you have no more questions."

Harry couldn't hide the look of relief that swept across his face as he shook his head, showing that there was nothing more that he wanted to ask. He started to head for the door.

"Oh, Mr Potter, one more thing before you go," the Healer interrupted.

Harry turned his head to look at him. "Yeah?"

"Next time I see you, I want to see you carrying at least 10kgs more. You are grossly thin."

"And, err… when will I be seeing you again?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"Well, that would be up to Mr Shacklebolt. But knowing you and your line of work, it could be tomorrow, so I suggest you start eating." The Healer chuckled with what Harry assumed could only be called Healer humour, because he didn't see anything funny in it.

He opened the door and hurriedly left the room. He would be happy as soon as he was out of St. Mungo's.

0o0

Harry walked into his house and sat down heavily on his couch. He looked outside and noted that it was still light outside. He hadn't been at home this early in, well, a very, very long time. Briefly he toyed with the idea of doing something about his barren garden; or painting the wall where an over-enthusiastic Weasley's Wildfire Whiz-bang had collided with it and scorched the paint off in a rather irksome lightening bolt; or perhaps doing something about the rattling noise when he opened the cold-water tap in the kitchen. But then Harry decided that he just didn't feel like doing anything constructive. A nice relaxing evening listening to the WWN was more what he had in mind. He wondered briefly if perhaps there was a game on. He hadn't heard (or watched) a Quidditch match in over a year – or was it longer?

He picked up his wand and flicked it at his wireless. An unfamiliar jingle greeted his ears, followed by an advertisement for Ministry Approved Anti-Dementor Amulets. A clear, female voice then rang out. "This is Doris Tattle reporting live from Diagon Alley, where earlier today, Harry Potter saved thirty witches and wizards from the jaws of death as he battled forty-five Death Eaters single-handedly and won! Mr Fitz, you were-"

Harry flicked his wand at the radio and cut the broadcast off. "Forty-five Death Eaters!" he snorted out loud. Oh well, it seemed like there wasn't going to be a game on.

Harry got up off his couch and wandered into his kitchen. He doubted that there was anything to eat in his house, but it was definitely worth the look. He was just about to open his fridge when he saw the note that was stuck on it.

_Just a reminder! _

_Supper at my place if_

_you get home in time!_

_Hermione_

Harry smiled and pulled the note off the fridge door. He then rummaged inside the fridge and pulled out the last butter beer. That was a good idea. It would be great to spend time with Ron and Hermione again. He downed his drink quickly and headed off to get ready for his first night out in ages.

"Well, this is a surprise!" said Hermione as she opened her door to let Harry inside. "I didn't expect to see you after I heard the news on the WWN."

"Ahh, come now, Hermione. You know better than to believe everything you hear on the wireless," Harry said as he walked inside and hung his cloak by the door. He faltered for a moment as the wonderful, yet terrible, floral scent that was Ginny assaulted his nose.

"So what really did happen then?" Hermione asked, taking his arm and leading him into the lounge.

"Give the guy a break," a voice chuckled, and Harry looked up to see Ron standing up, holding two glasses of Firewhisky and a butter beer for Hermione. "Let him walk in the door, at least."

Harry's face broke into the first genuine smile he had had in ages. All thoughts of Ginny were pushed out his head.

"Hey there, Harry," Ron said, handing one of the Firewhiskys to him.

"Hey Ron." Harry took the glass. "Wow, it has been ages. You still look the same though." Harry couldn't help himself from grinning broadly. Had it really been so long since they last saw each other?

"Well, you don't," Ron said, sitting down in the single-seater and indicating to the chair adjacent for Harry to do the same. "You look much shorter than I remember."

Harry laughed. "Rub it in, why don't you."

The boys slipped into an easy conversation. It was as if they had just seen each other yesterday. Hermione left them to it and disappeared into the kitchen.

By the time they had eaten, the bottle of Firewhisky had dropped quite substantially and Harry was pleased to note that it was starting to taste better and burn less. The line of conversation was also good as it had slipped back to Quidditch.

"-so the Tornado's were disqualified because they exceeded the two hour time out limit!"

"You can't be serious!"

"I am! And you should have seen how furious their manager was! After 4 days of play, to throw the whole game away like that! You should have seen it, Harry!" Ron stared up at the ceiling, as if he was replaying the match in his head.

"I wish I had!" Harry chuckled. "So when is the next match, and who is playing?"

Ron's eyes grew bigger. "You mean you haven't heard? It is only the biggest match of the year! The Magpies versus the Bats! The two top teams in the league! It's going to be one hell of a game! You must see if you can make it. You won't regret it."

Harry laughed. "I don't think there will be a chance I can make. The only reason I'm here tonight is because I got suspend-" he broke off his statement as both Ron and Hermione stared at him. Harry wanted to kick himself. Why bother about Veritaserum if Firewhisky made you spill your secrets.

"You what?" Hermione asked, staring at him incredulously. "You were suspended? For what?"

"Oh, nothing much," Harry said, and then trying to steer the conversation back to the safety of Quidditch he asked, "So, when is the match, Ron?"

"Don't you change the subject, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "What happened? Was it because of what happened today?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, it was. But I was only suspended for the rest of the day, so basically Kingsley just gave me the afternoon off."

"That is besides the point Harry." Hermione glared at him. "What happened in Diagon Alley?"

And so, Harry found himself retelling them what had gone down earlier that afternoon.

"But you told me that it was a lie!" Hermione exclaimed.

"No I didn't," said Harry defensively. "I told you not to believe everything you heard on the wireless. I didn't save that many people, and I as sure as hell wasn't stupid enough to take on forty-five Death Eaters alone."

"No, but you were stupid enough to take on twenty-one instead! God Harry! Do you want to get yourself killed!"

"You sound just like Kingsley. What the hell else was I supposed to do Hermione? Sit and watch them murder and torture those people until the rest of the Aurors decided to stop dilly-dallying and get there? I can't do it, and I know you couldn't either."

"Look, let's just drop this," Ron said, holding his hand up to Hermione who had her mouth open ready to reply, her features looking volcanic. "We don't get to see Harry often. Let's not have this turn into a row."

Thankfully, Harry watched as Hermione visibly appeared to lose steam. "I just wish you would be more careful, Harry," she eventually said, less aggressively.

"I was careful," Harry replied. He took another stab at changing the topic again.

"So, what is happening with that potion you made for me this morning? It worked even better than you said it would."

Hermione blushed with delight. "Did it really? I am so pleased to hear that. Neville and I have been talking about what to name it, but we haven't made any headway yet."

"What ideas have you come up with so far?" Harry asked.

Hermione blushed a brighter shade of pink and mumbled, "Neville wants to call it Longranger."

Harry snorted into his Firewhisky. "No!"

"Yes," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. Ron just looked between the two, clearly not understanding what was funny.

0o0

The conversation moved into the lounge and back to the topic of Quidditch. More whisky was poured and within the hour, Harry felt as though someone had performed a very good Jelly-legs jinks on him. It felt like all his bones had been rubberised. He leaned back in the couch and suddenly the scent of Ginny became more noticeable. He wanted to move, but the Firewhisky was making his head spin too fast. Perhaps if he just closed his eyes for a few minutes…

Somewhere, as if from very far away, he could hear Ron and Hermione talking.

"He can't have passed out yet, surely?" that was definitely Ron's voice. "I have been having two to his one, and I'm not even tipsy yet!"

"I don't think he is used to it," that must be Hermione's voice. "Besides, he isn't as big as you Ron. And he isn't looking after himself."

"Well, that wasn't very nice," said the tiny conscious part of Harry's brain that hadn't been soaked yet. But he couldn't bring his eyelids to open, or his lips to mouth the words. His last fleeting semi-conscious thought was that perhaps Hermione did have a point. And then he was completely enveloped by Ginny's scent as he finally fell asleep. He didn't notice someone untying his shoelaces and lifting his legs up onto the couch, nor someone removing his glasses from his face. He wasn't even aware that when they removed his wand from his back pocket, he tried to stop them. He was lost in dreams and memories, the alcohol making them more vivid and more real.

_The lights from cast spells were flying through the air. Bodies, either dead or stunned were strewn all over the floor, like discarded children's toys. Blood covered the floor and screams filled the air – screams of pain, screams of loss. He was getting close to Voldemort now. There were no more Death Eaters in his path. The girl with flaming red hair, the girl he had been watching out of the corner of his eye since he knew she was there, the girl who had unknowingly given him the heart to go forth and face his destiny, started to walk towards him. She always could read him so well. She knew he was going to face Lord Voldemort now._

_Ginny stopped in front of Harry, and looked up into his bloodied face. "You can do it, I know you can," she whispered._

_Harry just nodded his head, not knowing what to say. He honestly didn't think he could do it. He honestly believed that it would be the last time he would get a chance to look into her chocolate brown eyes._

_"I love you, Harry Potter," she said. It was the first time she had ever told him that._

_And the feeling that swelled in his chest at her wonderful words, turned instantly to ice as he saw Lord Voldemort walking towards them._

_"Shut up!" he hissed urgently, trying to shove her to the side, away from Voldemort, away from danger. Harry's face was etched with anger and hatred as he stared at the approaching figure. Voldemort couldn't hear those words! She would be his next target and he couldn't allow that! "This is not the place…" he started to explain to her, and as the words had left his mouth, he watched her fall - lifelessly - to the ground, the expression on her face both hurt and confused…_

THUD!

Harry woke up as he hit the floor. He heard footsteps approaching, and in his disorientated state of mind he felt for his wand. It was underneath him. As the footsteps reached the lounge, he bellowed, "STUPIFY!"

Someone crumpled to the ground.

Harry groped around for his glasses, and eventually found them underneath him too. The frames were all bent and twisted and the lenses had shattered. He repaired them quickly with his wand, his heart still racing from both the dream and the 'intruder'. It was only after he put his glasses on his nose that he realised he had made a rather large mistake.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry, Hermione!" Harry stammered for what seemed like the hundredth time in a matter of minutes. He had summoned her a cup of tea, and was sitting on his haunches in front of her, guilt all over his face.

"I'm just glad that your first reaction is to stupefy and not kill," Hermione huffed. "Honestly though, I should have known better than to come bounding down the stairs to see if you were all right. You were yelling in your sleep," she added as an explanation to Harry's puzzled expression. "Nightmare?"

"No, not exactly," Harry mumbled, "more like a really bad memory."

She patted his hand in an understanding way and said, "We all have those. Anyway, no harm done. I think I am going to head off back to bed."

"Yeah," Harry replied, "I think I will too. Only I think I am going to head off to my own bed. No offence, but I really don't want to hex you again."


	6. Chapter 6: Talks with a Toad

Chapter 6 - Talks with the Toad

Harry wandered into Auror Headquarters the next morning, trying to ignore the increase in stares he was getting. Some people shook their heads, while others appeared to be attempting to suppress their increase in hero-worship. He focused on the door to the office he shared with Kingsley Shacklebolt. If he could just get through there, he wouldn't be the object of all this attention. But Harry stopped just short of the door when he heard Dawlish's voice emanating from inside.

"… another one of his attention-seeking, over-confident acts! I told you two the last time! The next time that pompous kid did something stupid, he was out!"

Harry clenched his jaw and fisted his hands against his thighs in an attempt to restrain himself from doing anything too stupid. He was just about to open the door and march into the office when he heard Kingsley's voice.

"Now that is out of line! Your personal feelings towards Potter should not be the root of your professional decisions. He is the best damned Auror we have, and he did what anyone with a conscience would have done in that same situation!"

"He could have got himself and all the hostages killed! It was a miracle he didn't!"

"No! It wasn't a bloody miracle! It was skill that saved those people! _His_ skill!"

"But we still had losses!" Dawlish's voice rose slightly in triumph.

"Only because YOU insist on hiring children to do a man's job. Honestly, if Potter had waited for them to arrive, we would have lost more. They are not capable of doing this!"

"Now who is letting their personal feelings interfere with their professional judgement? I know that Potter has wheedled his way into your good graces. You are doing the same thing that Dumbledore did."

"And Dumbledore wasn't wrong, now was he?"

There was a pause before Dawlish spoke again. Harry could even picture the sneer on his face as he addressed Kingsley. "I will be submitting a full report and official complaint to the Minister. It is about time someone took Potter under control since you obviously can't do it."

Harry managed to dive out of the way and out of sight just as Dawlish tore open the door and stormed towards his own office.

Gingerly, Harry straightened himself and walked into his own office. He closed the door quietly behind him.

Kingsley looked up. His eyes wondered over Harry's face. "So I guess you just heard that." It wasn't a question.

Harry snorted. "Dawlish has been gunning for me since I was still at school." He took a breath. "You mustn't take the fall for me. Tell them the truth. You were also furious."

Kingsley sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. He was looking exhausted and it wasn't even 8am yet. "The truth is Harry, I would have done the same thing you did – although I probably wouldn't have walked out of it."

"Bull! You were brilliant! You were one of the best! You still are!"

Kingsley gave a sarcastic chuckle. "You humour me. I am, and never was, on your standard. Hell, I think you could have given me a run for my money when you were in your fifth year."

"Crap." said Harry loyally and picked up the Prophet to make it known that that line of conversation was now closed. Unfortunately, the front page was full of pictures and reports about the attack and rescue in Diagon Alley. Harry flung the paper aside, suddenly wishing that there would be another Death Eater attack at the infamous newspaper house. He felt like blowing something up.

Although Harry wasn't really in the mood to know the answer, he looked over at Kingsley and asked, "So, did my results from St. Mungo's come?"

Kingsley raised a rather large, brown envelope from his desk as an answer.

"And…?" Harry pressed. "What are you going to do?"

"Take the Healer's advice… for now."

"And what does that mean?" Harry wasn't in the mood for cryptic puzzles.

"Well, according to the good Healer, you are in perfect health. Except for the fact that you should be dead."

"And?"

"I have decided to keep doing things the way we are. You will still be on active duty. But," and Kingsley looked seriously at Harry now, "I want you to promise me that you won't go and do anything heroic and stupid."

"I can't-" Harry began, but Kingsley cut him off.

"I also want you to go back next week and see if the reading has dropped. The Healer did say it could have been elevated because you had been hit with an Unforgivable mere hours before the test."

"Ah, come on, Kingsley!"

"No Harry!" Kingsley raised his voice. "You listen to me! I am not going to have you ending up a vegetable in the closed ward! I know your readings will be higher than anyone else's because of the fact that you are the only person to survive the killing curse. But that doesn't mean that I am going to allow them to get much higher. At some point, you will reach your limit and then … and then there will be no going back. You will be as much help to the world as the Longbottoms."

* * *

In an attempt to keep Kingsley happy and himself out of further trouble with the Ministry, Harry decided to help Stewart and McGrath look for the missing victim. He approached the case files room with vigour, determined to find what he was looking for. It took less than an hour for him to start appreciating Hermione and wishing that she were there. Harry knew the Aurors were overworked. But seeing the tons of files that they had to sort through made their plight more real.

Torture, murder, destruction – it seemed like there was little else in the world. Harry could feel his frustration mounting. He pulled his fingers out of his unruly hair and opened another file, and then another, and then another. He was not getting the answers he was looking for. The more impossible the task seemed, the more certain he was that the second victim would provide the valuable answers he was looking for.

Names jumped off the parchments. G. Weasley. G. Weasley. S. Snape, B. LeStrange. A. Dolohov. G. Weasley. G. Weasley, G. Weasley, Ginny Weasley. That was one direction he didn't want his thoughts to stray.

He slammed the file he was looking at closed and stood up, scraping his chair roughly across the stone floor away from the table. He mussed his hair even more as he ran his fingers through it as if trying to physically clear his head of the thoughts. McGrath and Stewart looked up from the files they were browsing.

"Anything wrong, Sir?" McGrath asked.

"Anything wrong?" Harry asked, looking at the man directly. "Have you even seen the number of files? Do you even have a clue as to what is going on out there? Of COURSE something's bloody-well wrong! And we are just sitting here wasting our time!" Harry was just about to open his mouth to rant some more, when Kingsley open the door.

"A word, please, Potter." he said.

Harry looked at Kingsley, automatically realising immediately that something was amiss. He strode out the room without another word.

"There hasn't been another murder already, has there?" Harry asked when he was facing Kingsley.

"No, Harry. But lets go to my office. I don't want to talk here." Kingsley looked up and down the corridor nervously.

Harry nodded silently and led the way.

When the door closed behind them Harry asked. "So what is it?"

Kingsley's face looked strained from the tension. He sighed deeply before speaking. "Dawlish came through with his threat. You have to see a Ministry official."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "So why the secrecy? That can't be all."

"No, it isn't all. You have to see Umbridge, and you know-"

"Umbridge!" Harry exploded. "You can't be bloody serious!"

Kingsley grabbed Harry's arm as Harry was about to resume the pacing he had only stopped a few minutes ago. "Harry! You have to stay calm." Kingsley said urgently.

"Calm!" Harry began, but Kingsley shook his arm roughly.

"If you are going to leave that office an Auror, you are going to have to calm down. Umbridge would give anything to throw you out the Ministry and even more to see you in Azkaban. You. Have. To. Stay. CALM!"

Harry inhaled sharply as if to argue more, but ended up sighing heavily as he saw the truth in Kingsley's words. "When do I have to see her?" he asked, the fight leaving him.

"Now," said Kingsley. "She is waiting for you in her office." He narrowed his eyes, looking at Harry, trying to see if his temper was really under control.

Harry smiled briefly, the composure not reaching his eyes. "I'm fine Kingsley. Just frustrated. I'm not going to do anything stupid… well, not _too_ stupid at least."

Slowly Kingsley released his grip on Harry's upper arm. "There is one more thing," he added nervously.

Harry raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"She wants you to go in unarmed. So I am going to have to ask you for you wand."

"What?" Harry asked incredulously. "Does she think I am going to curse her here in the middle of the Ministry of Magic?"

"I think that is exactly what she thinks," Kingsley replied. "Or, at least, that's what she wants us to think. It helps promote your 'unhinged and dangerous' image she is wanting to create."

Harry barked a very Sirius-like laugh. "Fine," he said, digging his wand out his robes and handing it to Kingsley. "Here. I can take that toad out with my bare hands if I must."

Harry strode to the door before looking back at Kingsley. Kingsley was shaking his head, a small trace of humour in his eyes. "Just, for Dumbledore's sake, don't call her a toad to her face."

"I'll try," Harry volunteered, "but I can't promise anything."

But as Harry neared Dolores Umbridge's office, his nonchalant attitude disappeared. He truly hated the woman, and he knew that her feelings towards him were mutual. There was nothing good that could possibly come from any meeting he could have with her. He had to force the bitter thoughts out of his mind. Kingsley was right. He could not afford to lose his temper.

After being delayed a few minutes by Umbridge's secretary, Harry was lead inside her office. A wall of thick, sweet perfume attacked his senses. Harry wanted to choke, but forced himself to breathe. He let his eyes wander around the room. The first thing he noted was that it looked as foul as her office at Hogwarts had looked. Frills and doyleys covered every surface that was available. The cats she had prancing around in the decorative plates were still there. As he looked at the cat with the big blue eyes, his heart tightened. Memories of Mad-Eye Moody flashed before his eyes. He could see the pool of blood where Moody had died in his mind as though it had just happened yesterday or that morning, and not the same day Lord Voldemort had fallen.

"Hem, hem."

Harry jumped with surprise and shot his head towards Umbridge, clicking his neck in the process. He had lost himself in his memories.

Umbridge looked very pleased with herself. "Good day, Mr. Potter," she simpered. "Please take a seat."

Harry forced himself to greet her back and not just grunt, and reluctantly took the seat opposite her at her desk.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked in her girly voice.

"No, thank you," Harry replied coldly, forcing the politeness to the extent that he didn't sound polite in the least.

Umbridge's face darkened briefly. "Well, then. Let's get directly to the point, shall we? I have received a complaint from the Head of the Auror Division about your conduct, hem hem, or lack thereof, in recent," she smiled and battered her eyelashes, "and not so recent events."

Harry folded his arms across his chest but didn't respond.

"We, at the Ministry, feel that you are abusing you celebrity status, and using the Auror Department to further your over-glorified image and to get away with stunts that would not be tolerated from other Aurors. I am here to remind you that you are not above the law, Mr. Potter."

"I haven't broken any laws," Harry said, forcing himself to sound relaxed.

Umbridge smiled a wide toad-like smile. She pulled out a massive file from a drawer and placed it dramatically on her desk. The only file Harry had ever seen that was thicker was Hermione's study notes back at school. "You say you haven't broken any laws. Well, this file begs to differ, Mr Potter."

She tapped her stubby finger on the cover, and Harry could work out that it read 'Harry Potter – Questionable Conduct'.

"I see Dawlish has been using his time constructively."

"Don't get smart with me, Potter." Umbridge glared at him before opening the file. "Ah, here is one. Creating an unauthorised Portkey. In fact, you have done this more than once. And yes, Mr Potter, that _is_ against the law." Umbridge turned a few more pages, before pausing her finger again and reading. "Threatening a wizard held for questioning!" She looked up at Harry and smiled. "Oh my! Threatening another wizard. Especially one in the custody of the Ministry! I don't think that is legal-"

"He was a Death Eater and he was withholding information about-"

Umbridge held up her hand. "I don't want to hear your excuses." She dropped her eyes back to the file. "Lets see what else is in here."

Harry forced himself to swallow his anger and clench his jaw.

"Ahh! Here is another! Stupefying another Auror! My, my!" She tutted her tongue. "And since when was attacking an Auror legal?"

"He was going to get himself and others killed. I did what was practical." Harry said through clenched teeth.

"And I am sure the Death Eaters would say the same thing too," Umbridge smiled up at him. "Is that your excuse for the self-promoting stunt you pulled yesterday? Is that why you didn't think twice about risking the lives of all those civilians? Is that why you went ahead on your own, against Ministry guidelines, Ministry guidelines that are put there for _good reason_, and got an Auror killed in the process?"

Harry felt himself bristle at her words. Through clenched teeth he replied, "He didn't die because of me. He died because he was an inexperienced child who should have been out drinking with his mates and not running into battle."

"Does it make you sleep better at night, believing that?" Umbridge asked, leaning forward in her chair and resting her chubby elbows on her desk.

Harry bit his tongue and tried to calm the anger that was rising in him like a volcano about to explode.

"Hit a nerve, have I, Potter?" she asked, a smile breaking out across her amphibian-like face.

Harry leaned forward and looked Umbridge squarely in the eyes. Swallowing his anger he replied, "If anyone is responsible for the deaths of Aurors, it is you, the Ministry. Those kids have no idea what it is really like out there. They come in thinking it is adventure and excitement, girls and glory. They are still throwing around childish hexes. They have never seen a killing curse. They are completely unprepared for what is out there."

"There is power in numbers, Mr Potter." Umbridge snarled back at him.

"And a chain is only as strong as it's weakest link." Harry threw back. "Funny thing is, we only seen to have weak links. Or is it the Ministry's plan to hire wand-fodder until we win? _If_ we ever win this goddamned war."

"Are you accusing the Ministry of something?" Umbridge asked coldly.

"Only stupidity," Harry retorted.

"Be careful, Potter. You are treading on treasonous grounds."

Harry bit back the comment he was going to make. He knew he could not afford to get himself thrown into Azkaban.

"That's better," Umbridge smiled. "Which leads me to my next point. It has been rumoured that you are actively discouraging new recruits from joining the Aurors."

Harry opened his mouth to accept guilt on that charge, but thought better of it.

Umbridge smiled even wider. "Because that would be classified as sabotage, Mr. Potter. And if I can find any proof of it, I will be forced to punish you."

"And what are you going to do?" Harry challenged. "Force me to write lines with your quill? Or string me up by my thumbs in the dungeons and flog me to within an inch of my life?"

Umbridge's eyes flashed briefly. "Don't tempt me, Potter."

A wave of disgust washed over Harry. "I am not a schoolboy anymore, Dolores. You will not find it so easy to bully me this time." He spoke just above a whisper. "I am not going to sit quietly and take what you dish out."

"Is that a challenge? Because I think you will discover that you still have no power to stop me from doing anything." Umbridge dropped her eyes back to the list of offences before staring at Harry again. "Have you ever killed, Mr Potter?" She battered her eyes expectantly. The temperature in the room dropped by ten degrees.

"N- Only Voldemort." Harry narrowed his eyes, wondering where she was going with this.

"And He Who Must Not Be Named was not entitled to the same rights as other criminals?"

"Wha-?" Harry's jaw dropped. "It was him or me! Not to mention-"

"So you didn't go in there with the intention of killing him?"

Harry jumped out of his chair as though it had just been electrified. "Look! I don't know what you are trying to do here, but I am not listening to any more!"

"You will sit back down, Mr. Potter," Umbridge's voice had turned to ice. She slid here hand across her desk so that it rested on her wand. "And you will listen to what I have to say!"

Harry stared at Umbridge defiantly before turning his back on her. It was only after he felt his legs meld together that he realised that in the heat of his anger he had forgotten that Kingsley had his wand.

Harry toppled forward, unable to catch his balance. He grunted as he broke his fall with his arms. Harry turned himself onto his hip and propped himself up with his elbow so he could look at Umbridge.

Umbridge was wearing a very knowing smile as she stood up slowly. She walked around her desk, looking down almost hungrily at Harry as she caressed her wand.

"Tut tut. It looks like your temper has not changed." Her smile widened. "When will you learn, Mr. Potter, that you will not win against me?"

"Funny. I remember you being chased out of Hogwarts…" The words left his mouth before he had thought them through.

Umbridge's face flashed with anger before she controlled it into her regular carefree neutral. Casually she waved her wand around the office and Harry heard the unmistakable squelching sound of the room being sealed with the Imperturbable Charm. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach. He just knew he was in for something unpleasant now. Harry struggled to sit up straight.

Umbridge just smiled sweetly as she pointed her wand at him. With a flick of her wrist, Umbridge slammed Harry flat on his back on the floor, his shoulders pinned in place.

"Is that all you've got?" Harry tormented her. He was raging with an illogical and uncontrollable anger. More than anything, he wanted to do something to hurt the woman standing in front of him.

Umbridge smiled as if reading his thoughts. "I have so been wanting to do this for many, many years." Without opening her mouth further, she cast another curse at Harry.

Harry had been under the Cruciatus Curse enough times to know that this one didn't hurt as much as the others. It didn't mean, however, that it didn't hurt. He clenched his jaws shut in an effort not to scream as the blinding pain over-whelmed his body. His muscles were twisting and vibrating, but he could barely move. The unreleased pain was building up in him until, eventually, he had to vent it somehow. The sound that broke from his lips was guttural. He could see brilliant lights moving from the way he had clenched his eyelids closed. His roar changed into a scream before Umbridge lowered her wand.

Harry felt the pain subside. His body finally stopped twitching and he risked opening his eyes. He could taste blood in his mouth, but couldn't remember biting himself.

He glared up at Umbridge. She was looking flushed and delighted.

"That is the nice thing about doing it non-verbally," Umbridge said brightly. "You can hold it a lot longer." She raised her wand again, and Harry flinched involuntarily.

Umbridge noticed and laughed her sweet, girly laugh that made Harry's blood boil.

She didn't send another curse at him though, but conjured a comfortable chair for herself to sit on.

"I must admit. You lasted a lot longer than I thought you would. Most people start screaming almost immediately."

Harry snarled at her, not quite able to find his voice yet. He felt a trickle of sweat run across his forehead and pool into the socket of his eye. The salt stung.

"Now that I have got your attention, Mr Potter, let me continue. I know the Wizarding World thinks you are their saviour. But neither I, nor the Minister, are that easily fooled. You are a danger and a menace to our society. And I _will_ stop you. I have even picked out your cell in Azkaban. And I know two Dementors that would love to be reacquainted with you again."

Harry strained against the magic that was keeping his shoulders against the floor.

Umbridge grinned at his pointless effort. She caressed her wand again, before continuing. "And when I have you out of the way, I will get rid of Shacklebolt and a few others around here, like that annoying Granger and the Weasley brat-"

"You stay away from them," Harry growled, finding his voice. "They have nothing to do with this."

Umbridge gave Harry a patronising look. "I am afraid they still have loyalties to Dumbledore and not to the Ministry."

"But Dumbledore is…" Harry couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

"…dead. Yes, I know. The stupid old fool…"

"Dumbledore was not a fool!" Harry snapped.

"Dumbledore could have ruined everything! He should have shared the knowledge on how to destroy He Who Must Not Be Named with the Ministry and not you!" Umbridge returned.

Harry paused before replying coldly, "I thought you were sorry Voldemort was dead."

"Don't be stupid Potter. I just wish he had taken you with him." Umbridge glanced at her watch and stood up.

Harry, meanwhile, was rather speechless.

Umbridge waved her wand at Harry, and he felt the bonds holding him release and his legs free themselves. He sat up as quickly as he could and eyed her warily. Umbridge still held her wand at him.

"Consider yourself warned, Potter. You can't beat me or the Ministry. One more violation, and you will be out the Aurors – perhaps even in Azkaban." She smiled gloatingly. "Now get out my office!"

Harry didn't need telling twice. He got to his shaky legs and did his best to storm defiantly out the room.

He was halfway back to his office when he realised that he would, once again, have to keep Umbridge's actions secret. Kingsley would have him off active duty and pushing a quill before you could say Unforgivable Charm. A new anger, one that mingled with and rekindled the unjustly treated fifteen year old memory of himself, coursed through his veins.

* * *

Kingsley was waiting in their office, elbow deep in paperwork when Harry returned. The concern that crossed his face when he saw Harry was clear.

"What did she do to you?" he asked, letting the quill he was holding fall onto some parchment and scatter blobs of ink all over it.

"Besides accuse me of killing Voldemort? Nothing." He slumped down in his chair and, with a sudden wave of inspiration, opened his drawer and pulled out one of the potion bottles Hermione had given him. He put it to his lips and took a healthy swig. Harry expected that the cramp in his body would fade and that his headache would disappear. What he didn't expect was that he would feel better than he had that morning. He sat up straight and looked at Kingsley.

"I don't even want to know what that was," said Kingsley, smirking slightly at Harry's surprised face. He looked serious again though as he continued. "What did she do to you, Harry?"

"Enough," Harry replied vaguely.

But whatever Kingsley said in response was lost to Harry as a very familiar owl landed on his desk and stuck out his leg. He was filled with dread as he took the parchment from its leg.

It was too soon for another attack, surely?


	7. Chapter 7: Ghosts from the Past

_**Chapter 7 – Ghosts from the Past**_

8 July Mid-afternoon

Harry opened the letter as quickly as he could. The words jumped off the parchment at him.

"_Feeling worried yet, Scar-head?_

_Getting rest while in your bed?_

_Are your eyes yet rimmed with red?_

_Is your heart yet filled with dread?_

_A question for your pathetic head…_

_Is another Muggle dead?_

Harry swore loudly as he reread the message. They weren't ready yet! They were still looking for the second victim!

He turned the parchment over and saw a crude map sketched on the reverse side. It had a small area circled in red with a message that read 'Start here' marked next to it.

"Where are Stuart and McGrath?" Harry asked Kingsley. "Are they still hunting through the records?"

Kingsley nodded. "Harry, you can't go rushing off! You looked like death five minutes ago!"

"I'm fine!" Harry called behind him as he dashed out the door to gather the rest of his team.

* * *

The damp and salty scent of the sea was overpowering, and the chill was making the three Aurors shiver and wrap their cloaks around themselves tightly. Gulls were screeching as they dived down below for whatever morsels that could find to eat. The sound of waves crashing below was the only other sound that reached their ears. There were no signs of human life anywhere.

Harry, Stuart and McGrath stood on the edge of a very steep cliff, grim expressions etched on their faces. They might have found the view impressive if they didn't have such an undesirable task ahead of them. Although they hoped to find the victim alive, none of them expected to do so.

Harry pulled the map out of its place in his pocket and looked at it. A message had appeared on the parchment. It simply read 'Down.' Harry stepped forward and looked over the edge of the cliff. Far below them, he could see white, churning water smashing into jagged, tooth-shaped rocks.

"What!" McGrath spluttered. "We are not going down there!" The Auror had been an impressive shade of pale until that point. Now his colouring was heading closer to the pea soup that was notorious and found exclusively (thank goodness) at The Leaky Cauldron.

'I don't think we have a choice in the matter." Harry commented dully. He conjured a long sturdy rope and secured one end around the toughest looking tree he could find. He tossed the free end over the cliff and watched as it sailed downwards. "I'll go first," he muttered. Unceremoniously, he pulled his robes off over his head and shrank them to a size small enough to fit in his pocket. He inhaled sharply through his teeth as an icy gust of wind blew up from the depths below. He pulled on the rope, testing it with his weight before tentatively stepping over the edge. Harry was perfectly happy to be this high up with his Firebolt between his thighs – the height wasn't the problem. It was the thought of falling, or more accurately, hitting the rocks below that had his stomach in knots. He had never tried mountaineering before, in either the magical or Muggle way, and his first impression was not a good one. Toeholds were almost impossible to find, and decent footholds were even scarcer.

He hadn't descended very far before a shower of pebbles let him know that one of the others had begun to follow.

"Hey! Watch it up there!" Harry called out in frustration as a stone almost dislodged his glasses. The last thing needed was to be doing this by feel.

"Sorry," Stuart called back, not sounding particularly apologetic. He sent another trickle of stones down to Harry.

Harry decided that would be best if he just moved out from underneath Stuart and his large, uncoordinated feet. Harry had managed to cover about thirty feet before McGrath decided to join them on the climb down.

Almost 25 minutes of nerve-wracking climbing later, Harry chanced resting his weight on a small ledge. His shoulders and the muscles in his arms were letting him know in no uncertain terms that they didn't fancy this as a hobby. Sweat was running down his face, irritating his eyes and streaming down his sides. His t-shirt was sticking uncomfortably to his back. He fidgeted and managed to tug his shirt free from his skin. Almost instantly he wished he hadn't, as the unforgiving chilled breeze seemed to freeze the sweat on his back. Harry gritted his teeth in annoyance and looked up to see how far away the others were. Stuart was battling quite some distance above him; McGrath was even further behind and clearly finding this difficult. Just how long would it take for the man to get down, Harry wondered. It was precisely at that moment that Harry saw McGrath slip. A hailstorm of rocks were sent crashing towards him as McGrath started plummeting towards the ground. Harry watched in horror as McGrath's body came closer, his arms and legs flailing hopelessly in the air as a terrified scream erupted from the man's throat. And then, McGrath's head made contact with a protruding rock. Harry was certain he not only heard but felt the sickening squelching sound of human bones and flesh being broken.

But Harry didn't have time to absorb what he had just witnessed. The blow to McGrath's now rag doll-like frame had sent him falling directly towards Stuart.

"Stuart! Above you!" Harry bellowed desperately.

Stuart looked up and just managed to swing out of the way before McGrath came crashing past him.

Harry paled. He had to do something. He couldn't let the man fall to his death below. His wand was out of reach though. He couldn't slow McGrath's motion.

And then, as McGrath's body came hurtling towards him, it started to slow down. Harry barely took the time to register that Stuart must have used more initiative than he would have given him credit for. Instead, he did one of the dumbest things he had done in a long time. He thrust out his hand and grabbed at one of McGrath's limp arms as they began to drop past him.

As he stopped McGrath's fall, a shriek from the depths of Harry's stomach broke from his throat. The joints in his shoulders screamed, and lines of skin were burnt from the hand that was left holding the rope as he was dragged down with the sudden weight of McGrath's body. Rocks continued to rain down on him as he held onto both McGrath and his lifeline. He grunted, pain shooting throughout his body.

"Potter! Are you all right?" Stuart called from above. He started to climb down faster, but dislodged more stones in his haste.

"Be careful!" Harry roared.

"Shit. Sorry," Stuart stammered, as he continued to make his way, more carefully.

Harry ducked his chin down onto his chest, his eyes closed and his mouth pulled into a painful grimace against the inferno of pain that was swelling in his joints. He gritted his teeth as his muscles screamed in protest. It felt like an hour before Stuart finally reached him.

"Now what should I do?" Stuart asked, his expression was panicked, his eyes wide.

"Make him weightless, petrify him and rope him to my back," Harry responded through gritted teeth. "Just don't tie up my arms and legs. I'm going to need them."

With a lot of coaching, Stuart managed to get it right. With the relief of losing the burden, Harry's muscles began to shake. McGrath's weight was replaced with exhaustion. But Harry knew he couldn't stay where he was. He was only 30 feet from the bottom of the cliff as it was. Gripping the rope with his right hand, Harry forced his raw left hand to release its death grip. With cautious and deliberate movements he began making his way down again.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry's feet finally touched down on solid ground. He carefully worked McGrath free and laid him gently on the ground. He suddenly wished that he had paid more attention in the compulsory Healing course that the Aurors did. He felt helpless looking at McGrath's frame laying almost dead before him. He pulled his cloak out of his pocket, expanded it to its original size, and then draped it over the fallen Auror as an attempt at doing something helpful.

In a shower of stones and swearwords, Stuart landed only a few metres away. Harry could sense the Auror approaching them.

"So what do we do now?" Stuart asked, looking at Harry and not McGrath's form.

Harry barely lifted his head to reply. "We get him to St Mungo's."

"But… How? You're injured and I can't climb up there with him alone!"

"Portkey," Harry muttered. "You take him and make sure he gets the right attention."

"But… Dawlish… a Portkey! You will get kicked out the Aurors for sure this time!"

"If you think I am going to sit and watch another Auror die when I can help him, just to keep that bastard happy, you don't know me very well." Harry defiantly ripped his Auror badge off his cloak and waved his wand over it, turning it into a Portkey.

"Why… why don't you take him. I'll… I'll go on." Stuart looked petrified as he said these words.

Harry didn't bother to reply. He just gave Stuart one his most intense stares before dropping his eyes back to McGrath.

"You're hurt." Stuart offered as a last resort.

"I'll manage," Harry grunted. He pointed to the badge that was to illegally Portkey them to St Mungo's. "Get out of here, and get him help. When he is stable, get hold of Kingsley Shacklebolt and tell him what has happened. He needs to know." As an afterthought, he added, "Maybe he can brush the Portkey offence under the table for us. After all, it isn't as though we have tons of options here."

Stuart nodded. He bent down and took Harry's cloak off McGrath's fallen body. "You take this. You'll be needing it more than he will. Plus, yours is one of those Weasley cloaks. It might help keep you in one piece."

Harry hesitated before taking the offered cloak back.

"Good luck, Potter." Stuart said, before he took the Portkey. Harry mentally counted to three and watched as his team vanished before his eyes.

The first thing he did when he was alone was pull one of Hermione's miracle cures from his belt. He hadn't dared give any to McGrath, just in case it did the Auror more harm than good and inadvertently landed Hermione in a lot of trouble. He took a hearty swig of the potion and sighed as his joints, back and hand eased their throbbing. He sighed with relief and raked his hand through his hair. He pulled the map out of his pocket. An arrow was pointing in the direction he had to go. Harry swallowed the frustration that was rising in him from being led by his nose by the sick psychopath. He had no other choice though. He began making his way north. For no reason other than pure curiosity, he glanced down at the map again. He was surprised to see that it had been wiped clean. Not even the jagged outline of the land remained. He scrunched it up into an aggravated ball and stuffed it back into his pocket. He guessed that it meant it was the end of the clues now. From here on the search would begin.

He knew he was making better time on his own than he would have with Stuart and McGrath trailing him. But the coastline was bringing back memories – memories of the adventure he and Dumbledore had had the last night of Dumbledore's life. He paused and looked around, narrowing his eyes. No. It just wasn't possible, was it? No one else except Ron and Hermione knew the details of where he went with Dumbledore that night. It had to be a coincidence. But the memories that plagued him didn't stop there. It seemed that Stuart and McGrath were good for something after all – breaking the solitude and keeping his mind out of the past. He tried to suppress the memory that was tempting to form itself in his mind, but couldn't.

_Smoke-filled air burnt his lungs as he inhaled a shaky breath. He looked right into the red, emotionless eyes of the enemy he had had since before his birth._

_His wand trembled slightly in his sweaty hand, as he tried not to look down upon the fallen body of Ginny Weasley at his feet. He willed that she were all right - that it wasn't Voldemort that had struck her._

_This was it. It was now or never. He would never get another chance. Either he would leave here today, or Voldemort would. There could be no more postponements._

_It seemed that Voldemort was thinking along the same lines – with perhaps a bit more optimism._

"_Are you ready to die, Harry Potter?" The words slid effortlessly off his tongue._

_Harry barely noticed the slight wand movement before he saw a spell charging towards him. He managed to move out of its way with only a fraction to spare. The curse sailed past him and struck a fallen Death Eater on the ground, severing the masked man's leg from his body._

_That made up Harry's mind for him. He had to move this battle away from his fallen friends in case they were still alive. No. He wouldn't allow himself to think like that. They had to be alive – they simply had to._

Harry shook his head viciously, trying to stop the thoughts. But the memories would not be halted so easily.

_Harry was standing in the empty chamber waiting for Voldemort to arrive. He had known Voldemort would have followed him. His nerves were eating at him as time seemed to slow down. It seemed that Lord Voldemort thought running after his quarry was somewhat unbecoming of a Dark Lord. Or perhaps he had just known that Harry really had nowhere to run too. Either way, the seconds seemed to tick by like minutes as Harry waited. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart in his ears as he prepared to meet his death but take his enemy with him._

_Voldemort swept into the room, his robes billowing around him with a grace that belied his evil intentions._

"_So you have decided to stop running like a child and face me?" It wasn't a question and Harry saw no need to answer it. "When you are dead, Harry, I am going to destroy everything you have ever cared for, everything you have ever loved." Voldemort said the last word as if it was a swearword. It sounded like one on his colourless lips. "I think I will start with that little red-headed morsel outside."_

_Harry wasn't sure which emotion struck him the strongest – fear with the idea that Voldemort would kill Ginny if he failed, or hope because she might still be alive._

_But Voldemort continued, not giving Harry time to gather his thoughts. "I will promise you another thing, Harry. Your death is going to be extremely painful. Pain for each and every Horcrux of mine that you destroyed!"_

Harry grimaced. Voldemort had kept his word that day. Harry had learnt the meaning of the word pain – cold, unrelenting, physical pain. It was probably the pain and trauma that even now, seven years later, clouded Harry's memories of the actual order of events that happened. He remembered spells flying viciously across the room in a plethora of light and colours. He remembered the brief surge of hope that filled him the first time he had struck Voldemort.

_Harry threw spells back at Voldemort, more hitting their mark than he had ever hoped for or even dared dreamed possible. The mere fact that he was alive was testament to the fact that Voldemort hadn't hit him yet. But Harry knew that one careless mistake would mean the end. A stunning hex hit Voldemort on the thigh. The Dark Lord cursed, catching his balance. The precious seconds granted Harry the time he needed to thrust his hand into his robes and fish for the potions bottle he was after. It was Hermione's idea – and he hoped beyond hope that this would not be her first academic error. It was dragon's blood and some other things that he had never bothered to memorise. He had smiled, holding the potion in its small fragile bottle, accepting that if this didn't work, he would be seeing a lot more of his parents. Death, after all, was not the end._

_Harry pulled the cork out of the bottle with his teeth and spat it to the side. Voldemort seemed unconcerned. His laughter grew, tormenting Harry. Harry was completely focused at the task in hand. He had one chance, and one chance alone to get this right. Voldemort moved to the left, the green curse flying through the air. Harry avoided it easily and returned a curse of his own. The stunning curse hit Voldemort's shield charm square on. The Dark Lord was shunted back a few paces. And that was when Harry reacted. He threw the potion with all his might at the offensive wizard. His aim was true, and the potion broke from its container and drenched his enemy. Harry did not expect the terrified shriek of fear and pain that came from Lord Voldemort's lips. He watched, mesmerised as the Dark Lord started clawing at his own skin, the fear in the room palpable. _

"_What have you done, Potter?" Voldemort's eyes burrowed into Harry's mind, and Harry could see on his enemies face when he realised exactly what had happened. "NOOOOOOOOO!"_

_Voldemort's hands began groping at his chest, as if trying to stop the fragment that remained of his soul from escaping. But it was no use. Voldemort dropped to his knees gasping. He raised his wand one last time and aimed it at Harry. It was not the Avada Kedavra as Harry had expected, but a bludgeoning curse. Voldemort obviously realised that he lacked the strength to cast an Unforgivable. Harry managed to move his chest from its path, but the spell caught him in the upper, left arm, shattering his humorous into splinters and powder. Both fighters fell to the floor screaming – only one was left alive. _

Harry shuddered and subconsciously rubbed his left arm, as if to remind himself it was still there. Only the memories remained. Everything had turned out all right in the end, after all – well, with the exception of Ginny Weasley. He fought as hard as he could to stop his thoughts from progressing further, but he couldn't.

_Harry pushed himself up from the floor, screaming in agony until his throat was burning, as his arm flopped lifelessly on the ground next to him. It was only the thought of Ginny Weasley and her last words to him – the declaration of love, and the realisation that it was finally over, that got his to his unsteady feet. Biting back the bellow of pain, and trying to blink away the darkness that was beginning to cloud his vision, he grabbed his useless arm and tucked his hand into his belt, offering himself minor relief. He stumbled forward almost blindly, heading for the doorway that he knew was there but could not see clearly. He swiped at his glasses, smearing the blood that was on them out of the way. Gripping at the walls he made his way back towards the room with the fallen. He wondered briefly why he had previously thought it necessary to put such a distance between his battle and his friends – it seemed that the corridor would not come to an end. He paused for a few precious seconds, gathering his strength, willing himself to place a foot in front of the other. Ginny was only metres away. _

_A man came rushing past him, but Harry didn't care. It took a while before he even registered that the man was speaking to him._

"_Harry? Harry? Is that you?"_

"_Kingsley?" Harry asked, slowly turning his head to face the Auror._

"_Merlin, Harry! What happened?" Kingsley's tone was agitated and anxious. He looked like he wanted to put out a hand and hold Harry upright, but it seemed that the Auror couldn't decide if that would hurt him more._

"_He's gone. It's all over." Harry wobbled on his feet and tightened his steadying grip on the wall by digging his nails into the plaster between the hard, cold stones. _

"_His body is in there. Get rid of it – before some Death Eater decides to try their hand at necromancy or something."_

"_You can't bring back the dead, Harry," Kingsley said, sounding more like Dumbledore than himself. _

"_Are you prepared to take that risk with Voldemort?"_

_Kingsley's eyes darted between Harry and the doorway leading to the body of the most evil wizard the world had seen in a century. It seemed evident that he too decided it was not worth the risk. "Just sit here and wait for me, Harry. I'll be back to get you. Merlin knows how you are even standing. I wouldn't have recognised you if it wasn't for your glasses."_

"_No," Harry muttered, moving forward again. "Must find Ginny. I have to know she is alive. Have to tell her –" But he didn't finish that sentence._

_He dragged his feet onwards. With each step, Ginny was closer._

_Harry finally reached the doorway to the room. With fear welling in him, he forced himself to look around the corner. His eyes fell immediately to where she had been – but she wasn't there. Relief, like warm golden sunshine, filled him in an instant. She was alive. He screwed up his brow, trying to see through his blood-spattered glasses, and scanned the room for her. _

_And then he saw her._

_Ginny was standing across the room, crying. Seamus Finnegan had her wrapped in his arms, and he was talking quietly to her. Harry couldn't hear what he was saying, but it didn't matter. Ginny was alive. It was the only thing Harry cared about. _

_And with that important knowledge at heart, Harry's legs gave in. He dropped to the floor, blackness beginning to gnaw at his field of vision._

_He didn't hear Kingsley's gasp of shock as he fell and lay there lifelessly. He barely noticed Kingsley running up to him. He was only just aware of being dragged into Kingsley's arms and lifted off the ground._

"_I'm going to get you to St Mungo's. Just hang in there, Harry. Just hang in there!"_

"_No…" Harry muttered. "Not St Mungo's. Hogwarts… Madam Pomfrey. No… crowds. Please!" He put the last of his energy into the final word. His head had rolled back onto Kingsley's shoulder as the blackness engulfed him._

_When Harry woke up, he was still in Kingsley's arms as the Auror raced through the corridors of Hogwarts. His destroyed arm had slipped out from his belt and was dangling freely below. The shuddering jars from Kingsley's hasty steps almost made Harry pass out again from the pain. He almost willed himself to._

_And then the movement stopped and they were in the hospital wing._

"_Oh, Dear God! Who is that? What happened?" Madam Pomfrey looked completely flustered. And then she shrieked. "IS THAT … POTTER?"_

_Harry didn't care to hear what Kingsley was telling her. All he knew was that relief was close at hand. He felt his glasses being removed and opened his eyes._

"_Oh my god! He is still alive - I mean, awake! Can you hear me, Potter?"_

_Harry grunted and tried to nod, but that hurt too much. _

_It seemed to spark of a tirade of instructions from Madam Pomfrey. "I need him out of those clothes and on that bed," she barked._

_As his clothes were being stripped from him, Harry blacked out again._

_When he woke up much later, the pain had gone – the physical pain at least. Because then it was then slowly replaced with another, equally acute, pain. Days and days of waiting for Ginny Weasley to come and see him followed. But she never came. Only questions did. Questions he wanted to dwell on even less than the horrors of the past few days, so naturally, they consumed his mind and purged everything else from it. Had she lied? Had she just said she loved him thinking that he was going to die? Had she meant it? Had what he had done repulsed her so much that she was regretting opening her heart? Maybe the Dursleys had always been right. Maybe he was not worthy of love. Perhaps all who would ever love him had already died and he was destined to live alone._

Harry was so lost in the memories now. He was plundering along almost mechanically; only vaguely aware of what he was doing. He remembered those damning and reinforcing visits with those who had come to see him.

_Harry looked at his knees, hiding the desperation that he knew would fill his eyes the second the question left his lips. Barely above a whisper, he asked, "Hermione … where's … what happened to … how is Ginny?"_

_The silence that so uncharacteristically followed a question directed at Hermione spoke volumes._

"_I don't know, Harry. She's keeping herself really busy. She's been helping the Order and Aurors out, rounding up Death Eaters. It's like she is on a personal mission…"_

_Harry's voice cracked with emotion as he began the next question. "But why –" And then he left it, not sure if he wanted to bare his pain to Hermione, scared perhaps to hear the answers he was sure she would give._

_Hermione clutched his hand in hers. "I don't know why she hasn't come to see you. She won't tell me. Maybe this is her way of trying to heal…" Hermione must have realised that this was not enough. Lamely, she added, "I wish I could help you, Harry. She did say I must tell you that she hopes you get better quickly."_

_In an instant, Harry felt a skein of hope to hold onto. That was until Ron walked up, his face clouded with fury, and added, "I believe her words were more like, 'Tell him I hope he gets better soon, or something'." _

And then there had been the very revealing conversation with Fred and George.

"_Mum's doing much better now that The Burrow has been fixed up."_

"_Yeah. Even Percy seems to have come to his senses."_

"_Mum says we're not to do anything to him. But we're just waiting until she's not looking."_

_George laughed, "Or until we can make it look like someone else did it."_

_Fred's eyes darkened uncharacteristically. "Yeah. Like Ginny. Or that git Finnegan."_

_Harry swallowed and tried to look casual. "Why do you say that?" he asked as George shot a warning, "Fred!"_

_But the twins knew they had said too much and that feigning 'nothing' would be a pointless and unbelievable lie._

_It was Fred who spoke up first, looking serious, as if he was weighing every word he was going to use. "Look, Harry. I really don't know what happened. She's changed. Mum and Dad are going spare. She's running around on a mission, chasing down Death Eaters. When the Order tried to stop her, she went to the Aurors – or what's left of them. They couldn't turn her down. She'd done too much to help them. And she's of age, if only by a hair." Fred shook his head in frustration before continuing. "The war – our war – your war, is over. She should be here with you, not running around…"_

_Harry swallowed the lump in his throat, and tried to suppress a sense of dread over Ginny's safety. But there was more. He didn't want to know, but yet he did. He was finally getting answers. "So, where does Seamus fit in, in all of this?"_

_George rolled his eyes at Fred in a did-you-have-to-spill-the-moonstones way before answering. "She's spending a lot of time with him. A LOT of time."_

_George obviously felt that he didn't have to spell it out further._

_Harry nodded. It felt like his stomach had just disappeared – replaced with a void that seemed like it would never be filled again._

_The twins looked at each other with a great amount of discomfort._

_It took the remaining dregs of Harry's own courage to ask the next question and shatter what little was left of his own ego. "Has – has she ever asked about me?"_

_George put a hand on Harry's shoulder and gave it a friendly shake. "Harry, forget about her, OK."_

"_Yeah," said Fred, patting him on the back. "You'll have witches lining up to shag you. No wizard in his right mind would want to tie himself to just one. Go out. Have some fun. Merlin knows you deserve it."_

_Harry forced a smile he didn't feel. The truth of the matter was, he would willingly give up queues of witches to just have the chance to talk to Ginny. Or did he? The words he had wanted to say to her only a few days ago, now seemed inappropriate. Maybe the twins were right. Maybe he should just try and put her out of his thoughts. She obviously didn't care about him after all. _

_But it had been a lot easier to do in theory than in practice._

Harry inhaled deeply, trying to fill the cold, emptiness that seemed to consume his insides. It felt like a lifetime ago, and yet it still hurt like it was yesterday. It made him feel pathetic that her actions from such a long time ago could still hurt him. Surely no normal person held feelings for this long?

Both time and Harry trudged on. He didn't stop unless it was to search through caves. The sun began to set for the second time since Harry had started out, and the cold air dropped further in temperature. When it got too dark to navigate safely, Harry lit his wand and pressed on, rubbing his eyes to scrub away the fatigue that was wearing him down. When his watch said it was 3am, his exhaustion got the better of him. He set the alarm and finally curled up in a small recluse in the cliff face and slept for the first time in two days.

10 July

Merely two hours later, Harry woke up shivering to his watch buzzing impatiently. A dusting of pink was visible in the sky and the birds sounded like they were having a violent war of words. Harry stood up and stretched his cold and stiff muscles and then rubbed his arms briskly to get more feeling back in them. He extinguished his magical fire and set out again. Two hours was all he would allow himself for rest. He ignored the rumbling emptiness in his stomach. He didn't have anything to eat with him, and he didn't want to waste time trying his hand at magical angling.

The sun rose higher, changing the sky from pink, to orange and finally to blue as the day made its mark on the calendar. Harry pressed on, looking into every nook and cranny in which a person could be hidden, but not wasting too much time either.

He slipped and slid over rocks, not even bothering to try and keep his feet dry anymore. All that mattered was finding the victim before it was too late. He knew he was making good time. There was a chance he could do it.

At midday, Harry froze in his tracks. He had seen exactly what he had spent the last two days trying not to think about - the entrance to The Cave. He pushed down the memories that surged even more forcefully in his mind as he began scrambling towards it. As before, with Dumbledore, he had to swim a short way to get to it, the rocks he had been walking along having come to an abrupt halt. He plunged himself into the water, gasping at its sudden iciness, but not stopping. When he reached the other side, he pulled himself out of the water. And then he heard it. Someone inside was moaning pitifully inside.

Forcing himself not to abandon his commonsense and rush headlong into an ambush, Harry gingerly made his way along the wall. The stone was cold and slimy to touch, but he didn't want to risk lighting his wand – not until he knew what was ahead. He was sure that he saw things moving in the shadows and heard unknown creatures scurrying on the floor and walls. A cold shiver ran up his spine.

And then he saw it. He froze as if petrified to the spot. His face was contorted with disgust and revulsion. Never, not since the end of the war, had he ever expected to see something as cold, malicious and disturbing as this again. Harry swallowed the bile that was rising in his throat and stepped out of the shadows, into the open.

"Hello," he said, just above a whisper. He couldn't think of what else to say to the victim.

A/N: I know, as someone who has done rock-climbing before, that Harry is doing it all wrong here. My defence is that a) he doesn't know better and b) that it would bore you silly to give you a million technical terms. So I decided to go about this the 'wrong' way. Besides, abseiling is really quick and easy ;) and I wanted Harry to go it alone.


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